Escapability

Memories

2011-12-31T10:25:00.000-08:00

As 2011 stands on its final legs, I am compelled to reflect on how it has perhaps been as fine a year as I could have hoped for. In fact, I always dreamed of making end-of-year diary / blog entries where I gloated about how everything that transpired in the previous 12 months went exactly as planned. This past year is perhaps the closest I have come to making such an outlandish statement. The last occasion I was so infected with optimism was when I realized that I actually passed my 12th grade "board" examinations, thus having the opportunity to attend one of the finest institutions in the world.

The last five years have been, simply put, the greatest five years of my life. Not to say it was all smooth sailing. Far from it - very far actually. I expected my college experience to be a cake walk, but boy, I had no idea how much further from the truth that line of thinking was. Also, don't ask me why I thought it would be easy. I would only blame the naïveté of youth.

But saying goodbye to the University of Texas, the city of Austin and friends that have been there through the good times and the bad is a task as hard as any. Austin has grown on me. So much so that I never actually contemplated what it would be like having to leave this fabulous city.

They say what you remember most are the people. I couldn't agree more. I certainly would not have become the person I am today without having the sort of support I was fortunate enough to fall back on, from my closest friends to my family - you guys have been terrific.Words will not do any justice to the impact you have had on my life.

Austin, Texas has outdone itself and has proved to be the ideal city for a confused college student in the formative years of his life. It will remain a second home to me and will always hold some of my most cherished memories. My orientation on day one, the UT speech and debate team, the Vector newsletter, Longhorn football, cricket (yep, in Texas), French language circles, surprise birthday parties, swing dancing, World Cup watch parties, SXSW, awkward Halloween costumes - life has seldom been as good. College has changed me for the better - or so I would like to think. Additionally, more than anything I learned in my classes, it is the life experiences of the last few years that instill me with the hope that I am reasonably prepared to handle the real world. Spending the last few years with rather awesome people helped me grow up in ways that I could never have imagined. Perhaps I digress since this is supposed to be an ode to 2011. But y'all will never be forgotten.

Here's to hoping that 2012 will be half as memorable as the years that preceded it.

The joys of Hollywood Physics

2011-12-25T09:41:00.001-08:00

While appraising and criticizing the effect Hollywood is having on the understanding of science, you can perhaps forgive movies of the fantasy genre such as Superman, X-men and the Spiderman series whose very essence is deeply rooted in the presence of super powers. One would expect that the appeal of super powers is the existence of a license to enjoy watching some of the fundamental laws of science being bent, broken and occasionally mutilated.

Yet I ﬁnd it a little more difﬁcult to appreciate ﬂawed physics when it appears in movies that put on a more serious front. The usual surfeit of bad movie physics invariably includes cars bursting into ﬂames the moment they come into contact with just about any object. There always has to be the indefatigable good guy jumping 20 or more feet and landing with a mere bruise and standing up to catch up with a Ferrari that happens to drive by (on foot!) as is frequently portrayed in the James Bond movies.

Furthermore, it is certainly worth mentioning one of the most overused mistakes in action ﬂicks - the ﬂashing bullet! Filmmakers frequently represent impacting bullets with bright ﬂashes of light to enhance an already scientiﬁcally mutilated scene. Regular bullets, especially those from handguns that are made of lead alloys, simply do not create ﬂashes of light when they strike an object. This can be logically explained by the fact that most of the bullet’s kinetic energy is lost by the time it hits and even more is lost during the deforming of the bullet and the object. Besides that, energy is even lost due to shock waves transmitted into the object. All of these are sure signs that bullets from the gun of a Hollywood star do not quite adhere to laws governing this planet.This ﬂaw is something that quite surprisingly even the Bourne series has incorporated. Yet, the latest in the series, The Bourne Ultimatum, is one of my favorite movies for the sheer realism and smart action that we were treated to for two whole hours. One particular scene that comes to my mind is when Jason Bourne is forced to drive his car off a high parking lot onto the ground some forty feet below. The car tumbles down at terrifying speed towards the tarmac and on impact heavily dents the car while not producing absurdly wild ﬂames. Not surprisingly, the director admits that this effect was created not by CGI but by actually carrying out the entire stunt as we witnessed in the movie.Nevertheless, due to the current trend of movies, this scene would have appeared quite differently in another movie such as Live Free or Die Hard. Flames would have erupted the moment the car made contact with the ground and perhaps these ﬂames would rise in a towering crescendo engulﬁng a helicopter ﬂoating above. Of course, this helicopter would then ﬂy for about a mile, wildly out of control, and then slam into another structure, duly producing the single most intimidating blaze which is then miraculously doused at the end of the ﬁlm. Pure drama, nothing more.

The antics in Live Free or Die Hard come nowhere near the legendary science shattering epic, Speed (1994). This movie has perhaps the single most absurd scene of all time that deﬁes the very basic law of physics and served as an unforgivable snub of poor Isaac Newton. It involves a bus and a missing ﬁfty-foot section on an overpass bridge.The bus, travelling on an empty freeway seems for a moment to be doing everything that a regular bus would do. However, as luck may have had it, no one realizes that the overpass they were approaching was missing a ﬁfty foot section until it was too late. Keanu Reeves then instructs Sandra Bullock to speed up in order to jump the gap. Excited physicists all over the world must have licked their lips in anticipation of the impending demonstration of projectile motion which depends entirely on the take-off angle. However, a cursory look at the front of the bus would tell you that the take-off angle was ...zero! So, the only way for the bus to get to the other side if it existed in a realm that resembled anything close to reality was for it to ﬂy straight across a ﬁfty foot gap!

However, the butchering of Newtonian physics does not stop there. During the jump, the back of the bus dips way below the level of the take-off point while it was about halfway across the gap. Logically, it would seem that since it was below the landing point at the other end of the gap, the bus would have collided square in the middle with the unﬁnished bridge.

But, of course, who needs physics in Hollywood. The bus makes it to the other end, with some vague camera work solving the collision problem and
we all get to enjoy a cheesy, happy ending. Yet, even movies that defy hard logic are entertaining in a funny way and I cannot deny the hours of entertainment that they provide when there is little else to do. However, it does little to enhance a better understanding of the world as we know it. If you are ever in a situation where you need to make a 50 foot leap travelling in a bus at 70 miles an hour, it would not be a bad idea to remember that you probably won’t make it, whatever Keanu Reeves may have to say about it.

A night from Heaven

2011-04-08T14:47:00.000-07:00

31 for two. Sachin Tendulkar, arguably India's greatest ever cricketer was just dismissed. The target of 275 looked like Everest without him at the crease. Surely this was the end of the dream - a billion dreams. It couldn't end this way. It couldn't. It would be too cruel..

I had endured so much heartbreak following this team. I don't think I could have taken another. My first World Cup was '96. We were playing fabulous cricket, well on our way to winning the semi-finals. Then it happened. The great man was dismissed, and the rest of the team duly followed suit.
'99 - well, the less said the better. A one man team was never going to make it all the way.
2003 looked to be our year though. After registering eight fabulous victories on the trot, including a rousing triumph over Pakistan, surely this was our year. But Australia was ready for us, and we all know how that one ended.

The first round exit in 2007 prompted a lot of Indians to pledge allegiance to another sport. But not me. I couldn't bear to stop following this team, not even during those dark days, for this team had also given me far too many moments to cherish. The 2001 Kolkata miracle, the 2002 Natwest Trophy, the '03 World Cup run, '07 Twenty20 championship, Laxman and Ishant against a rampaging Australia, I could go on. Having lived and died with this team, winning a World Cup would have meant everything to me. Perhaps it just wasn't meant to happen in my lifetime.

* * *

Living in North America renders watching a cricket match an arduous exercise. Yet, butchering my sleep schedule for over a month to keep up with this team never once felt like a chore. Cricket is ingrained in my blood far too deeply for sleep to interfere. This still did not stop me from feeling that chilly tingle of tension when I woke up at 3am, minutes before the start of India's biggest cricket match in three decades. Watching the pre-match telecast with crazy Indian supporters making inane, drunken predictions only made my insides churn faster.

Something about Indian cricket's 2011 avatar felt different though. As if destiny was egging it to take what was rightfully theirs. The signs were undeniable. After an ordinary performance in the group stages, the whole team was playing on a completely different level the moment the knockout stages commenced. The younger guard of the team was on a rampage, lifting the fielding standards to levels unheard of in Indian cricket circles. The defending champions were sent packing all the way to Sydney International Airport. The old enemy was vanquished in the "mother of all matches" after a week of unbridled hype. All this despite a nervy show from the Master. Surely, this Cup was ours.The machine was well oiled. With just one match to go and every cog in the team firing as a unit, there was no way this nation would be denied after a twenty eight year wait.

Yet on that fateful Mumbai night, watching Sachin fall early felt like the death rattle of yet another crushed dream. Sri Lanka were on the charge, staring us in the face, daring us to make the next move. I couldn't bare to watch, silently hoping that my illegal online stream would crash and relieve me from a harrowing nightmare. It didn't. In hindsight, it would have been tragic if it had.

Inch by inch, over by over, we clawed our way back in the midst of extreme pressure. Words would not do justice to the sheer exhilaration of watching Gambhir and Kohli craft a game changing partnership, a billion hopes hinged precariously on the blades of their bats. Following another jolt, Dhoni joined in, resulting in the collective heart rates of a nation settling down for a bit. We would not be denied. Not this time. That last six off Dhoni's bat must certainly have reverberated around the globe. If the earth shook that moment, a billion people on the subcontinent were to blame. It was madness. A happy madness. A joy that knew no boundaries and which had no more obstacles to overcome. Number one in the world is an extraordinary feeling - and that moment will be etched forever in every Indian's heart.

It was Heaven.

What's in a name?

2011-03-18T13:12:00.000-07:00

After having spent close to five years in the heart of Texas, the one constant I continue to experience is the way my name is pronounced the first time someone reads it. It's just one syllable. But apparently it's the most complicated syllable in existence.

"Hozay, we would like to call you in for an interview."
"Hozay, you don't look very Hispanic. Why did your parents give you a Hispanic name?".
"Hozay? My name is Hozay, too!".

Exactly two people have pronounced it right the first time they read it. The first was a random Vietnamese girl four and a half years ago who was checking off names of freshmen at UT. Even that early, I was astounded that someone had said it right. Upon further inquiry, I discovered that she hadn't even heard of the Hispanic name José. Go figure. The other one was this Indian dude whose last name is my first. Considering that he ought to have known how to pronounce his last name, it wasn't a shocker that he pronounced mine right. Not another soul has said it right since.

The more amusing results have come after I had already explained its nuances to someone. The next time I bump into the person, I see them screwing up their face a little, trying their darnedest to recall how my name was pronounced. I have received numerous variations of Hoes(!), Jozay, Jaws and the like. As much as it used to annoy me, it has since grown into a source of eternal amusement and is, as I have lately discovered, not such a bad conversation starter since the first thing any old bugger would like to know about you is your name.

A couple of my closest friends had, with complete seriousness almost talked me into changing its spelling - a suggestion that I still consider quite earnestly. I have flirted with the idea of flipping the positions of the 'e' and 's' to make it more phonetically discernible. However, that could give the impression that I was deliberately trying to butcher my name, by leaving off the apostrophe.

For all the wonderful folks reading this (you are probably the only one), try saying pose. Now, replace the phonetic sound you make for the letter 'p' with a 'j' sound. There you go.

Hozay's cool too.

Of resolutions and orcs.

2011-01-24T10:17:00.000-08:00

For as long as I can remember, I have strived to welcome the onset of a new year with an epic endeavor. This is very different from a resolution, which I believe is more like a gimmick behind which rational humans often hide under the pretext of making nonsensical "improvements" to their generic lives, akin to embarking on a journey as fruitless as acquiring all 120 stars in Super Mario Galaxy.

Rather such an endeavor is an attempt at convincing my flaky subconscious into believing that the rest of the year will be sufficiently epic. I am a fan of the epic. So much so that the other day, I made a Youtube playlist of all the epic songs I was aware of, just so that I could play it during moments that lacked epicness - which is probably not a word.

Consequently, my epic endeavor for the month of January was to have a Lord of the Rings marathon on a random day between lunch and dinnertime. (By dinnertime, I am referring to the tried and tested Indian dinnertime of somewhere around 10pm rather than the preposterous American habit of taking it a little after 6pm.) The end result was that I was taken on a ride down memory lane through the murky forests of Middle Earth to the fiery splendor of Mordor in a little over seven hours. It helped me envisage the sheer vitality of living in quite possibly the greatest fictional universe ever created, while simultaneously ruing my banal existence as a twenty two year old college senior. Despite the obvious risks to one's physical well being, I do find it more appealing to be fighting alongside Legolas and Gimli in the Battle of Gondor than preparing for my forthcoming midterm.

The only complaint I have against Tolkien is that he stopped the series at three.

Toy Story 3 was another movie that quite perfectly encapsulated what it meant to be attached to a film series. Andy's ages in each of the three movies quite miraculously coincided with mine, and it was quite something to know that the final instalment had him heading to college. Pixar certainly outdid itself yet again, and anyone who hasn't yet had the pleasure of watching this one is living a sad life indeed.

2011 is already looking up. Without the pangs of disappointment that the rest of humanity feels at blowing off yet another resolution, I can look forward to the uncertainty of tomorrow with merely fear and trepidation. Not disappointment. Never disappointment.

Merry Christmas and a Happy Boxing Day!

2010-12-25T14:07:00.000-08:00

How is it not possible to love the last week of the year? After your respective deranged, drunken Christmas debaucheries, you stumble into Boxing Day (if you're into that sort of thing) and before the hangover of the last two has passed, you immerse yourself into the sheer lunacy of New Year's Eve. With Christmas ornaments decked just about everywhere (in the Middle East, no less!) and optimism writ large on random faces on the street, you just know that it is a good time to be alive.

All the more reason why you shouldn't be on the internet reading this. Go out there and be with your family, you insufferable nerd!

Elevators From Hell.

2010-11-27T10:30:00.000-08:00

The UT campus resembles an incredibly lively, intellectually stimulating little town. I wouldn’t be astounded if a lot of the ‘citizens’ of this town shared this sentiment. However, one aspect of it that never ceases to depress me is the plain evil that seems to engulf every single elevator on campus. How many times have you taken the elevator anywhere on campus and walked out of it radiating with optimism? Okay, it’s a rhetorical question.

Picture yourself in an elevator that stops at a random floor. Generally, the people coming in seem to be happy and jovial, but the moment they enter into that confined space that is the elevator, every ounce of happiness from their face evaporates faster than you can say hypochondria, if you choose to say it. The most you can get from even the closest of friends you meet in an elevator is a pursed-lipped ‘hello’ rather than the animated “Hey, What’s up!!” anywhere else on campus.

My point is that elevators on campus do not quite facilitate human emotion besides all-consuming abjectness. This is rather unfortunate because studies show that the average human spends about eight days of his life in an elevator. That is eight days of your life standing in one spot staring at its insipid, colorless walls, silently pleading for the doors to open. The world could certainly be a better place if you (yes, you) put those eight days to some use. This could range from some creative endeavor to merely entertaining your co-passengers.

I believe that elevators have the potential to become the most intellectually invigorating work spaces at college campuses around the country. Perhaps that is a bit of a stretch, considering that we haven’t yet heard of ground shattering innovations originating in elevators. Yet, it is a shame that such time isn’t utilized to its fullest.

I recently came across an article about “60 things to do in an elevator” and decided to have some fun with it. It suggested things like “make car noises when anyone gets on or off”, and “offer name tags to everyone getting on the elevator” or “break into song, singing ‘Mary had a little lamb’ while continually pushing buttons. One of my favorite suggestions, however, was to stand facing the direction opposite to the door of the elevator. I actually tried this out numerous times with varying degrees of hilarity. During one of those times, I managed to convince a group of six people walking in that they would be getting out the other way. The looks on the faces of every subsequent incoming person were priceless!

On a more serious note, it probably is worth your while to do something more than just pray the doors would open sooner than it should. Just yesterday I decided to start talking to one of my fellow passengers and found out that he was actually my long lost lab partner from some obscure programming class. It made my day.

All I really want to reinforce is that every single elevator ride you take can be potentially life altering. So go out there, get into those elevators and change the world (for the better).

Drivers License.

2010-11-19T09:39:00.000-08:00

When I was six, I remember looking around in awe at the people who were capable of driving a vehicle. To me it seemed like a skill that warranted a significant amount of respect.

As the years passed, the realization gradually dawned upon me that driving is actually a piece of cake. Perhaps easier. Despite this delayed awakening, my recent struggles with acquiring my drivers license had briefly caused me to switch back to admiration mode. Let me explain.

First, I can hear you snickering already. So cut it out. I acknowledge that you are aware that I'm about 22. However, I do have quite a few exceedingly legitimate reasons for not owning a drivers license all these years. I grew up in Dubai in the United Arab Emirates (as some of you might know) where you need to be 18 to even begin to drive legally, unlike in the US, where you can get your permit when you turn 16, and actually drive with an accompanied adult when you're still only 15(!). Personally, I think that particular age limit is preposterous, but that's a story for another day. So yes. I first came to the US when I was 17, and missed the cut in the UAE by a few months.

After I got here, considering that I knew absolutely no one in the city of Austin, getting my drivers license would have turned into an expensive affair if I had decided to take classes. Money was not a commodity I had in abundance. If I had to be perfectly honest, I was broke beyond belief. So there went that plan. A few years passed and voilà, I turned 21. As any rational 21 year old would think, it was clearly about time I was legally allowed to drive a car. But there was still the small matter of practicing somewhere and taking a road test. I think I ended up annoying a couple of my friends asking to borrow their car for me to practice with, for my driving skills did not seem to inspire much confidence in them and consequently, they probably quivered at night for the fate of their respective cars. But I persevered and they complied and they did a pretty awesome job of being patient with me. And for that I am thankful.

So I go in to the Department of Motor Vehicles and what do you know, I fail my vision test! Apparently I was blind as a bat and wasn't even aware of it. I now needed glasses, for Pete's sake. It was like the forces that govern the universe were conspiring to deny me the license to drive. And I ended up shelling out about 200 bucks for a doctor's appointment and a pair of glasses before heading back to the DMV. I felt fairly confident, and had every reason to be so, for I had been driving for a while now.

Yet, the miserable old hag who took my test claimed I did not 'have control' on three of my turns and established that it was reason enough to fail me. When I pushed her to elaborate, she retorted that I simply needed to 'practice' more. I fought the urge to punch her nose inwards and instead uttered some niceties. I thanked her for her time - not because I was genuinely indebted to her for being my examiner, but because there seemed to be a decent chance that I might have to see her again the next time I took it.

Two weeks later, I headed back to the DMV hoping against hope that I didn't encounter the same rude, ancient scallywag that took my test the previous time. Thankfully, a much nicer old lady greeted me this time and laughed when she found out who my previous examiner was. Apparently, Mrs You Don't Have Control was one of the more unpopular workers at that particular DMV and was notorious for failing test takers for nonexistent reasons.

Even on that attempt, I still remember dreading the moment my examiner would turn to me telling me I had failed for some inane reason. However, she had a grin on her face so wide it actually had me alarmed for a second. I made a 97(!) on my road test. She even claimed that she was baffled how I had failed the last time. Needless to say, I felt like how Einaudi must have felt when he finished composing I Giorni. I was so ecstatic that I was successfully able to control the impulse to shove my license down the previous old hag's face. I still hate her. Perhaps I am being irrational.

But I don't care. I can drive!

A brown kid's fascination with 'American' football

2010-11-12T13:25:00.000-08:00

My friends from back home have been constantly vexed about my love for American Football. I often find myself having to patiently explain the intricacies of the sport, hoping that the details would not be lost on the few that cared to listen. Yet, how could I possibly blame them.

The very first time I caught a glimpse of this much maligned sport, I couldn't suppress my laughter. How inane would you have to be to run around in bizarre ogre-like costumes, jumping into a pile of men for three hours straight? My very first roommate (some would know him as Pingu) and I would actually watch football games with the sole purpose of snickering at this clown fest. This couldn't possibly be sport. Or could it?

As the months passed, the hilarity turned to mild amusement, to intrigue, to genuine interest. Then the 2008 season happened. I watched every game. Every. single. game. And if you were on the fence about whether you loved this sport, THAT season would have converted you into a fanatic. If you were a Longhorn, that is.

Contrary to popular belief, being a fan of American football does not automatically mean you're a fan of the NFL. As far as I am concerned, the NFL will never be anywhere near as exciting as college football. The only reason I even tune into the NFL is to follow the careers of former 'Horns.

At any rate, the purpose of this post (if it does indeed go on to have a purpose - I haven't quite decided yet) is not to edify you on the rules of the game, but to merely open your eyes to the possibility of watching an American football game if you have never done so.
As much as I love the REAL football (that's soccer to you Americans), the shenanigans on hand at the World Cup and even the Champions League before it was truly distasteful for the sport lover. The playacting has reached ludicrous levels and is an eyesore.

Besides, for those of you insecure in your manhood, how could your machismo ever be in question when you are able to carry a ball into the end zone knocking over 250-300 lb grown men, leaving them in your wake.

I do need to reiterate, however, that I am not trying to take a swipe at soccer. I still follow the Premiership and the Champions League. And indeed, cricket will always remain very close to my heart. Yet, I feel compelled to share the emotion that swells up within me when I watch my university take on the best football teams from around the country. And watching games at Darrell K. Royal Texas Memorial Stadium, the Cotton Bowl and the National Championship Game at the Rose Bowl are easily some of my most cherished memories ever. This sport really is something.

A long time coming

2010-10-31T11:48:00.000-07:00

I decided to finally get with the system. Yes, you heard me. Five years. That's how long I resisted creating a blog. "Why is that?" you ask. Fabulous question.

I have always been afflicted by procrastination. So much so that I struggle to recall a period in my life when a venture of mine has not been plagued by it in some form or the other. This blog was originally conceived in the summer of '10. It is the day of Halloween as I type this, my first post. Why did it take me so long to post? The short answer - I don't know. I just didn't. However, I do promise you, dear reader, that such a travesty will cease to occur in the future. You have got my word. Whatever that is worth.

The time just seemed ripe. The world seems to be changing. Let me explain.

Two of my all time favorite sports teams are experiencing fortunes they haven't seen in a long time. The Indian cricket team is now the number one team in the world. I never imagined the day would come when I would be able to utter those words without being lambasted for shameless homerism. Alas, the second team of my heart - the Texas Longhorns, just months removed from a National Championship appearance are now languishing at the bottom half of the Big 12. Gone are the days when Team India would let me down and I would look to the Longhorns for redemption.

That's not all though. I also celebrated Halloween for only the second time in my life, despite this being the fifth Halloween I spent in North America. The reason this is significant is because it is not. I just wanted to give you more than one reason why I decided to make this post. For those of you that are interested, however, my "costume" consisted of a white shirt, pants and a cape. I was a vampire, albeit without the fangs. A friendly vampire. The actual rationale behind me even attempting to dress up is that a friend of mine convinced me that the spirit of Halloween warranted at least a semblance of a costume. I also figured that I didn't want to spend another Halloween indoors. If you figured it out already - yes, I hate Halloween. I think it's the most pointless festival in existence. But that's a story for another day.

At any rate, you have now reached the end of this post. I suppose it is not the end since you are still reading. But I promise you it is almost over. I will be back, soon. There's this book I am working on. I have dubbed it 'Escape'. Updates will follow, soon. Watch this space.

- Jose