Meandering Stream

Political incorrectness

2012-01-23T15:37:00.000+01:00

There's something about being (or saying things) horribly wrong that just tickles me. I think the world would be a better place people learn to being politically incorrect for humour (Ricky Gervais, anyone? Or Jimmy Carr? warning: links are quite offensive!).

Like my French friends here. They routinely joke that I may have been already married when a kid. They make slurping sounds when eating beef, and praise the taste. Some know that I don't like the concept of eating snails. So they make sure to offer me some whenever I mention I'm hungry.

It's all done with the slight semblance of a smile and twinkle in the eye. Knowing that what they are saying is wrong. Or sometimes with a overly fake serious face.

I counter with their stubborn insistence on saying my name wrong. Or saying American movies are plain "ollywooood". Or asking me if I want to heat because I might be angry. And I joke about how looking gay is okay. And mention how they still think they should own the world, making a poor Asian like me do all the work.

I mentioned my upcoming trip home, and immediately one guy asks: "So, can we ask you to get something from India?" I answer, "Sure. What do you want?".
- "A young wife. Probably 13-14 year old."

October Saturday

2011-12-08T17:28:00.000+01:00

Umm... 2 shirts, 2 jackets, 2 pants, gloves, muffler ... the Alps don't care. You freeze if you are on a motorcycle.

But then, your day includes 160 kms of half-frozen riding fun, over 500m "mountains" that lead you to 1000m mountains, across fields of frozen grass, through tiny towns that seem to only live off motorists and motorcyclists that pass by, through valleys cooled by the long shadows of mountains that surround them; over deep narrow gorges that make any climber's eyes sparkle, passing by hours of watching cars race across narrow mountain roads.

It's morning, 8 am. You grab a cuppa coffee from a small make-shift snack joint, exchange a few sentences about warm gear with the motorcycle riding cops who are there to block traffic for the car rally, and amble off into the spectator zones to find a good spot. A few hours later, after watching close to 50 cars roar into, and out of, the curve you prop open your backpack. Settle down into the now-unfrozen grass, and prepare your sandwiches. The sun has been good.

For the next leg of the rally, you head to a different section. You pass through 2 tiny villages, stopping by at various places on the way to take pictures. Frequently, the road is just a one way affair - you have to stop to let the car approaching from the opposite direction pass. Sometimes, even the motorcycle has to stop to let the car go safely. And those rally driver idiots are gonna vroom past these places.

Aiglun, nestled in the mountains

You reach the finish point of the stage, a small village perched in the mountains. Park the motorcycle and hike along to find a good spot. Now, you are not on the plains as before. There are some sharp bends in the road, next to which run some tiny trails that lead you to a nice vantage point with an overhead view of the bend. You grab a spot along with 20 others. From here, you see all the cars mid-turn, in all their rubber-burning glory. The light is fading, so for the final few cars, you decided to go into the inside of the turn. Makes for great pics.

A few dozen pics later, you realize you are tired. You walk back to your motorcycle, gobble down a few more sandwiches and head back home. It's been a great day.

A list

2011-11-30T19:33:00.000+01:00

A little list of things/seemingly crazy adventures I want to go on soon (5 years?), in not any particular order:

- Tour du Mont Blanc (TMB). And if I get really ambitious, the GR5.
- The Pandharpur Yatra. The approximately 250 km route. I have no interest in the religious significance, but am only intrigued by the idea of walking along with half a million people.
- On a similar note, the Road to Santiago. If one begins in Arles, it's a little more than 1300 km. Again, no interest in the religious significance. This one ranks with the GR5 in difficulty (mental, more than physical).
- A really random, backpacking kinda trip in India.
- Any of the trips on this website.
- A week/month long backpacking/hitchhiking trip across Europe... or just France.
- The GR20 in Corsica. This one seems most accessible to me right now. Just need to work on my fitness.

There are more things out there that tempt me. But right now, this list is what comes to mind.

Donations will be accepted.

The misfit. The rebel. The troublemaker.

2011-10-06T02:32:00.001+02:00

I am not much into music, but when I wanted to buy a music player for my sister and my dad, I bought an iPod. I couldn't afford the data plans when the iPhone debuted. By the time I could, I'd turned into a Linux loving geek which led me to getting myself an Android phone. There is no denying how I wanted my phone to work like. Even as a kid in India in the late 90s I knew how an Apple computer looked like. I've not owned an Apple product yet, but I know the influence of half the gadgets I want or have or have used.

I'm not an Apple fan by any means, but it's not difficult to have a sense of respect for Steve Jobs. A good start is to watch the excellent movie Pirates of the Silicon Valley. The movie ends at the point where Steve Jobs came back to Apple years after being forced out. To get a sense of what happened next, read this article. And then this. And of course, this video. Few people have changed the way people behave, live, and use technology as much as he has.

He influenced the direction of technology for the last 12-13 years (that I experienced) and I'm pretty sure his influence will last the next 5 at the very least...

"Stay hungry, stay foolish."

Reputation

2011-09-14T15:56:00.000+02:00

In the US, I quickly developed a reputation as the guy who fell off a bicycle and had to go to a hospital. Now, I'm known as the guy who keeps fixing his motorcycle. And sometimes the camera.

I guess that's an upgrade, right?

Suurrrpriiiise!

2011-09-06T00:27:00.001+02:00

"Umm, dude, we all would like to take you out for lunch..."

It's a weekend, so lunch is actually an amalgamation of breakfast, lunch and dinner. Generally speaking. I'm surprised... and being treated to "lunch" by flat-mates on your birthday is a nice surprise.

We pile into the car, and head off. Our crazy humor kicks off. One wants wine. Specifically white wine. Sweet, white wine. Fresh, sweet, white wine. Cold, fresh, sweet, white wine. We stop before someone punches us.

Someone orders steak. It comes with leaves and twigs. I order rabbit. It too comes with leaves and twigs. These guys hunted the animals down as they were lunching (the animals, not the guys). The rabbit was probably holding on to the tree really tight. They couldn't separate him from his food. I'm told to drink more wine. I protest saying the rabbit in my stomach will feel suffocated. I'm told that he can't complain, cos he has no face or mouth to protest with.

The waitress asks if we would like anything else. I'm almost forced to ask for a phone number for the dessert. Almost...

"Let's go have a drink at Wayne's... It's on us." Damn, these guys wanna get me drunk. "Nah, I'm too full to drink." Eventually I get a drink. The bar has posters. Movies, bands. There's The Beatles right next to our table.

Something clicks in someone's head and they begin singing "We all live with the orange mandarin... orange mandarin"...
----

Heading back on the highway... most of us almost dozing off. We reach home. Park the car. The trash is full, I get it out. There's our lizard, Toby, on the can. I start putting the cover on my motorcycle. One calls out, "Hey look here, this is just amazing." I suspect Toby is up to something, but he (she?) was in the other direction. I amble up, see a balloon on a tree, a step ahead and 20 people shout out, "Surrrprriiiseee! Happpy --hoooot wooooot --- birthday to you...Joyeux anniversaire.... ... "

I see someone filming. 20 people staring at me, smiling, singing, I'm self conscious. I don't recognize a few. Oh, must be couchsurfers... I'm given more wine. The glass gets refilled quickly too. Hugs, bisous fly around. Flatmates magically arrange pizzas for the guests. The look on my face is -- whendidyouguysarrangeallthiswithoutmeknowningit?

Someone puts on "Aaj kal tere mere". I'm the only Indian in the group. Huh!

Some time later, we head to the beach. I've been handed a strange mixture of whiskey + red bull. I'm already reeling. A friend plays the guitar. He plays "Aicha"... halfway to the end, he switches it with my name and some impromptu lyrics. Then he starts playing "Tujhe dekha". Plays this song from Chahat (a movie I'd forgotten about.. and probably never seen). To repeat, I'm the only Indian... rather, Asian there.

Head back to the house. There's a cake. People sing Happy Birthday in English, French, Spanish, Italian, Arabic and then German. They ask me for the Hindi version. I say there isn't. The ask me how to say it in Hindi. They learn the phrase in a few seconds and sing it to tune.

People make sure I get more wine. They see to it I will wake up with a headache at least.

I couldn't have asked for anything better. Thanks guys. :)
---
Psst: I'm getting a Kindle with what you all gave me. :)

Motorcycle tales - redux

2011-09-03T18:13:00.000+02:00

In this recounting of the further adventures concerning the motorcycle saga, we will learn how physical strength, high school chemistry, basic physics, pure mechanical engineering and a willingness to part with your money can all come together to fix the bike.

Last we checked up on the motorcycle, it had gotten new spark plugs, new battery, new air-filter, an oil change, new oil filter and a big ego.

Coming off months of storage, the bike starts off well, but there is just something wrong with the way it runs. A few days on, I start hearing explosions. No, not in my dreams. And not just me. Everyone hears them (just in case you think I am hallucinating). The motorcycle fires off a huge fire-smoke thingy after every few minutes. 3 cars crash because the drivers were dozing, my motorcycle woke them up startled and made them over-react. (Not really). I've stalked enough online motorcycle forums to realize this: unburnt hot fuel leaves engine, comes to exhaust where this hot fuel gets oxygen and explodes. In other words, carburettor is being a lazy ass.

A few days later, I notice that fuel leaks out of the carburettor, into the air-filter and then out of the air-filter drain hose onto the ground. Again, in other words, carburettor is acting like 3 year old being force fed green veggies who then refuses to swallow. Previous attempts with carburettor have proved that I cannot dismantle it, let alone clean and inspect it.

1 month, 2 trips to the mechanic, and 250 € later, a grim news awaits: about a litre of water in fuel tank caused loads of rust. Rust, that found its way to the carbs. Rust that blocked air, messed up fuel and caused explosions. Rust that, according to the mechanic, "cannot be removed. Even it can, there's no point because it'll come back". Yeaaaa, Mr. smart-alec, what's the point of repairing anything - it's all gonna get messed up again. You should just retire. Apparently, "the only option is to get a new tank". How much is the new tank? "Ah, forget about it. Worth more than the bike in it's current condition."

Yep, I know it looks gross.

Merde!

Like any respectable nerd, I head back to the internet. Turns out if you like using acid (Hydrochloric) and anti-rust paint, you can get rid of the rust. Drain tank - fuel, water and all. Throw in Hcl, shake tank, drain, rinse with hot water, dry, paint with anti-rust paint, dry, tada! Except, France refuses to stock that particular anit-rust pain. A trip is made to local hardware shop, where I'm told that I should "get paint for motorcycle from the motorcycle shop".

More internet later, another technique is discovered - electrolysis. Fill tank with electrolyte (washing soda+water), make tank the cathode, provide a steel anode, connect power supply. Wait few hours. Astute readers will remember that there is an old battery lying around. I buy the rest of the stuff. Drain the tank. Except, there are hidden pockets with more fuel inside. Even the Italian pickpockets wouldn't be able to get their hands on them, they are that hidden. The best way to drain turns out to be: pick up tank, shake it like a Martini that 007 would want so that fuel pops out of those pockets and out the tank. Except tanks are not light.

I now have stronger arms...

To be sure, the electrolysis is repeated multiple times. The results of the exercise are visible when I play volleyball - faster serves and better smashes.

Drain electrolyte (shake it, daddy!), dry tank (hair dryer, air-mattress pump, fire of 10 burning suns), fix it back on the motorcycle. I now can fix the tank unaided in 5 minutes (or less). You know what they say about practice...

Deep breath, fill back the petrol. Motorcycle starts (of course, it would. There's nothing wrong with it except that rust, which has been removed).

1 week later, hear a couple of unnatural noises. Shrug it off. A few days later, while starting the bike, hear a loud noise. Like someone threw a spanner in a metal bucket and hit that metal bucket with a hammer. Motorcycle just about starts. Few hours later, when I need to start the bike, I need to push start it (Push bike, drop second gear, release clutch, vrroooooom). Charge battery overnight. Next day, bike doesn't start.

Put on your Sherlock Holmes cap. You hear something spinning, something clicking, but engine is not turning. Hmmm, battery was good but drains immediately. I.E trying to start bike is causing circuit to close with ultra low resistance and battery drains. Or, starter has issues. Open the left side of the engine, where the alternator resides.

Shock and horror await --->

Those black things are magnets. They aren't supposed to be crushed.

Order new rotor off the internet. Get the bolt off. To get this old rotor off, one needs a sliding hammer. What's that? Even the French don't know. Dammit. Read about various other hacks of getting the rotor off. I don't even find the tools for the other hacks. During one particular attempt, a piece of another bolt gets stuck inside.

Finally give up. Realize that removing this will take about 1 hour or so if done by a mechanic. Get an appointment with a mechanic (a different one). It's 20 days away. On the day, get your trusty flatmate to help you push the bike (with a dry weight of 170 kg). The mechanic asks you to come back in the evening. In the evening when you go back, he says when he checked it, he didn't have the right tools at hand. The tools are in his other place. One more day. He asks if he should also clean up all those crushed residue. I tell him he should.

The next evening I go back. Another problem. That piece of the bolt that got stuck... remember it? It's really stuck. Mechanic angry. Says he's spent 3 and a half hours until now working on the bike. At 47€ per hour, it's already 165€. Thank heavens for those American credit cards. He asks me to come back the next evening.

Next evening, I'm told that everything is good now, except that the alternator is shot. The crushed magnets flying around probably damaged it. I tell him that there is no need to change it right now, it's not critical anyway. He says I should come back the next day then. The guy is driving me crazy now. I go back the next day around 2 pm, and he says he still hasn't finished it. He hadn't had time to do it. Frustrated, I push back the bike home - parts hanging around and all.

A few hours later, it is all fixed. The bike starts. Woo hoo!

The next day, a Sunday, the bike refuses to start again. I dismantle stuff, find nothing, put it back together. Push-starting works. Phew! Except the clutch setting is all wrong and it needs loads of pushing. I figure this out in the evening. Monday morning, fix the clutch and push start it. At work, spend about 30 minutes thinking it through.

Aha! The money-stealing, lazy-ass mechanic did not tighten the rotor correctly. Leave work, buy a torque wrench, get home, open bike, tighten rotor. Put back everything. Bike starts like nothing had ever happened to it.

Phew...

Adapting

2011-08-01T01:53:00.001+02:00

You grow up believing a certain thing. You learn a certain way of life. You learn what is "right" and what is "good".

Then you travel to a new place.

Here, people eat beef, drink alcohol since teenage years, smoke stuff, leave home and become independent around the time they can vote, celebrate festivals you know about but are ignorant about the ones you care about, take off on unplanned hitch-hiking trips across several countries, aren't married even at 35, are perfectly okay joking about their beliefs and customs...

Over time, you adjust to certain things. Your digestive tract can handle assaults of heavy meat-based diet, alcohol affects you lesser and smoking of any kind still disgusts you. You enjoy the independence, love trips but still can't fathom the unplanned, time-unbound travels, and find your own way to share your festivals.

You realize that you can't really forsake "your culture" and start figuring out which parts of it work well with you and which don't. You love some traits and customs the "other cultures" have. But some of them still fall in the grey zone. You realize you still have a lot of soul-searching to do to decide how you want to live and be comfortable with the decisions you make.

There's still a lot to figure out.

Late Night

2011-07-22T01:28:00.000+02:00

There is a faint recollection of an evening. But now it's late night. The difference and contrast amuses me. You are with your closest friends again. You are sitting in the same seat as before too, but you are not driving this time. You thought this kind of meet-up wouldn't happen, but it has already happened and you are on your way back.

This time it is late night. It is winter and half the car is freezing. The entire drive has been through heavy fog. In fact, one could look straight at the sun in broad daylight. You want to curl up under a blanket, be warm and comfortable... and that seems to be the last thing possible at this time.

Easy conversation is a distant memory. Everyone understands each other perfectly, but something still seems off. You thought you were back on great terms, but now you question yourself. At least we all understand each other... so well that sometimes we don't even have to wait for the sentence to begin to know what is going to be said. Knowing your friends so well is disconcerting.

There are no fireworks, no city skyline. Just the fog and the taillights of the truck you are following. I realize that I don't care for the city and neither did I care the last time. I just hope that the few of us who met, and the few others who couldn't make it, all get together somewhere. Sometime. Hopefully not too far in the future. The trip did not end in a city without fog... but let's hope that it will clear off soon.
----
If this doesn't make sense, skip it. It was intended to be personal. And I wanted to publish it anyway.

Enchiladas and Mechanisms

2011-07-03T23:55:00.000+02:00

A collection of posted status messages and unposted but intended tweets that might describe my trip to Mexico:

Pre (and during) flight:
- Me vs Airline Baggage restrictions
- Okay Lufthansa, I know they speak Spanish in Mexico, but that is no reason to send me to Madrid.
- 12 hours into the trip, I'm still on the same continent, closer to home than where I was 5 hours ago.

In Mexico, in the inter-city bus:
- Call off the search parties, these Mexican buses have free wifi!
- Am I in Mexico or am I doing the Pune-Satara leg in a Volvo?

In Guanajuato:
- This hotel room is better than home. #canIstayhereforever?
- Describing my research to people infinitely more qualified than me suddenly makes it interesting again.
- The curse of the light poles is now officially in Mexico too.
- Someone should export Mexican food to France
- Chili makes beer better. #micheladas

Mexico City!
- People who look like me, food stalls on the streets, shops selling bags, utensils etc, people shouting out the list of candies they are selling in the train: Looks like this place has been lifted out of Dadar in Mumbai.
- Dear pre-hispanic Mexicans: next time, please build the pyramids closer.
- Dear modern-day Mexicans: please explain how you drink so much.

Cancun:
- Dear Mexican airline people.... I was asking where the airline desk is, and you ushered me through security without a hitch. The fact that I got to the gate without a boarding pass is your fault, not mine. So why are you checking my bag when I want to go back out?
- If this bus has even a tiny accident, I'm gonna lose my knees. #stupid-leg-room.
- Heh.. there is a university in Cancun... yea.. right.. they "study"
- Okay.. I need some answers. Which idiot has been making Aztec sacrifices to the rain god? Here's something you should know: 1) Sacrifices are illegal. 2) Rain has been following me for days now
- Yay! Sunshine! No rain! waitaminute.....Who turned on the sauna?
- Someone replaced the sand on the beach with baby powder! Is it because this is the New World?
- And the water! Don't mess with my head. Just tell me how you made it so clear?

Journey back:
- Dear Lufthansa, you said it was a window seat. No seriously, you promised it was a window seat. This one is not even at the aisle.
- Apparently, it's okay to get duty-free Tequila in your backpack from Mexico to Frankfurt, but not okay to continue carrying it to Nice. So if you hear of a Tequila Party in Frankfurt, remember who actually bought it.

A little note:
Dear Mexicans, you are just like us Indians. We look the same. We eat spicy food. Our cities are overcrowded, and alive. The metros, trains, buses are full of stinky people who need a shower.
... And we all want to go to the US of A.

Autopilot

2011-05-24T02:08:00.001+02:00

I pull out the brochures from the mailbox, walk up to my room, dump them on the bed. Their journey from mailbox to trash had a slight detour because I saw an offer for a tablet - seemed quite cheap. I can't really afford any gadgets right now (rather, I shouldn't), but once you find one interesting deal you want to make sure you don't miss any other possible ones.

5 minutes later they all end up in the trash anyway.

Nothing to cook in the house and it's past 8 pm. No supermarkets open anymore, and the choice is between a sandwich/kebab or something-from-groceries-bought-at-gas-station. Noble thoughts like "Let's save money and actually eat better" turn to "Pizza or sandwich?" on the 5 minute walk from home.

I enter the gas station, greet the cashier. I'm tired and on cruise-control mode. I know the layout of this place, and walk to the freezer. Pick up the cheese pizza automatically. Something catches my eye - the Kebab Pizza. I pick it up, turn it over to see the ingredients. My eyes skip over the Dutch (or German?) lists and suddenly pause at the list in English.

I just realize that I was looking for the ingredient list in French, with brain set to scan for the presence of "beouf". I smile to myself. But I still can't really speak the language! Conversations are a struggle.

Then I realize that all those deals I was reading about were in French.

Anatomy of motorcycle repairs

2011-02-28T00:40:00.000+01:00

"Change oil, remove battery and either drain out all the petrol or fill up the tank."
These are the tips I read for storing a bike for winter, 1 day before leaving for India. Naturally I scourge other websites which tell me that changing oil can be done later, after winter. When I plan to change the regulator that is apparently unrepairable.

After winter, I bring out the toolkit, fish out the pdf manual and scroll to the correct page. The battery-less laptop is upstairs, so I memorize the instructions, run down (so that I don't have enough time to forget). Start dismantling frame cover and seat.

Panic - "What does the regulator look like?!"

Run upstairs, stare at the photograph. Wonder if I am doing the right thing. Walk down, disconnect the regulator wires and start unscrewing the screws. A flimsy ~~spanner~~ screwdriver and rust on the threads ensures the following:

There is no way to put it back. Damn. Also realize that the new regulator has a slightly different shape and the screw would not fit anyway. "It wasn't all my fault", I convince myself. Use Velcro as a fix.

Ten thousand thundering typhoons! Bike still doesn't start.

Clean the spark plugs. Recharge battery for two days. Send out a "HEEEELLLP" post to motorcycle forums.

Next weekend:
Realize that I need to test the ignition coils. "Where are they?" The bike manual says, "under the petrol tank." Ouch. By now I am an expert at removing the frame covers. I take a deep breath and get to work at the petrol tank. Loosen the bolts. Try lifting the tank. It barely budges. Apparently I have to pull, tug, lift and wiggle the tank to get it to move. Swish, swish! Oh crap, the fuel moves around causing the tank to wobble almost out of control. Deep breath. Lift it and peek underneath - two fuel hoses. Rest the tank on the frame, run up read the manual. It says, "Turn the fuel cock to OFF position. Remove the fuel hoses." Hmmmm. Run down, tug at the hoses. They have been fixed by pressure clamps.

Re-adjust the tank on the frame so I can see the ignition coils. (Are they really the ignition coils?) Damn, I need a multi-meter. Put everything back.

The next weekend:
Procure a multi-meter. Test the resistances. Something is wrong, but you still cannot figure out what. Also, the resistances seem fine, i.e ignition coils might be okay. Pull hair out. Also, I *think* I did see the spark plugs spark when I last tested them with a charged battery. But the engine doesn't fire! I don't know what's wrong!

Realize I probably need a new battery. Order a new battery off the internet. Then realize that I might also need new spark plugs. Wait.

The weekend after that:
A friend takes pity on me and offers to help. Also, he has a ginormous tool-box with all kinds of spanners, wrenches and stuff. He has also successfully fixed his car from time to time. Kaching! We open the bike up. Successfully remove the tank and the hoses. Check the wiring, and the ignition coils - they are all fine. The scene is like this:

Yes, the manual is still a pdf on my laptop. And I figured out it's better to have the laptop downstairs. My friend then says, "Maybe the problem is not just the spark plug. Maybe your engine is not getting the correct air-fuel mix. We should check the carbs." Uh-huh.. have you done it before. "Ya, for a car, but never for a bike."

"Well, we are here anyway, let's do it", I say. "But let me take pics as we go, because the pdf doesn't really have great photos. There are too many hoses, pipes and wires running all around." I whip out the camera and the result is some amazing pictures that are of absolutely no help.

Cleaning the carbs seems too complicated. We start putting them back.

"Where did this hose go?" I ask.
"Dunno, check where the other end is", is the reply I get. So I tug at the hose. I start pulling it and it comes out completely. The other end isn't connected to *anything*. I stuff it back in. This makes no effing sense!

We put the stuff back. Apparently defeated.

The weekend AFTER that! (ya, this was a multi-week affair):
I buy the new spark plugs and the new air filter. Replace them. Figure out that the magical unknown hose was a water drain for the petrol tank. Use copious amounts of WD40 to destroy the rust at various places. Use copious amounts of chain oil to lubricate the damn thing. Fit the air filter, put the tank back, fix the new spark plug and connect the new battery.

Switch the fuel cock to the 'PRI' position, engage the choke. Pray and twist the key. The engine turns. Nothing. Twist again. Again the same. Twist again and pray..... IT'S ALIVE!!!!

India!

2011-01-19T23:38:00.001+01:00

After every trip to India (or from India to somewhere), I've written a post titled "Culture Shock". This one continues in the series, but I don't know if I should call it shock anymore. I'm not surprised by stuff, I expect it. I'm aware of the differences I see and didn't actually goof up, flinch or be shocked.

But I can't say I'm not confused by stuff... or find it worth not mentioning. So here goes a list.

1. Laws & common sense: we are flexible on them. On the plane to India, I was sitting next to this one Indian couple. To put it politely, they weren't frequent fliers. As the plane begins its descent to Mumbai Airport, the lady next to me fishes her cell phone out of her purse, looks at it and asks, "I didn't have network all this time, but do you think I can give a call to XYZ?"
I may have carried more than the permissible amount of wine in my luggage (wink wink). The customs officer looked at the luggage, smiled at me and waved me away.
and so on...

2. Languages: It was after many conversations with people (in Europe) that I realised that we Indians have multi-lingual conversations. Over the past year I've told many people about how I always mix 3 languages when I speak with my Indian friends. But that truly hit me now when I switched on the radio. Seriously, most of the radio jockeys on all the radio stations speak in 3 languages. In Maharashtra, it's Hindi, Marathi and English. In Goa, it was Hindi, Goan and English. I'm used to this, but it's only now that I find that fascinating.

3. Traffic: It seems that if I sit to drive a car, and the car is a left hand drive, I will drive like a law abiding American/European would. If the car is a right hand drive, I will drive like a zig-zagging, lane-hating, 2 inch clearance loving, over-speeding Indian would. I have no problems adjusting. Though I don't use the horn much.
Which makes me wonder how I would drive in England.

4. Costs: India seems to be unable to figure out whether to be expensive or cheap. I hired a cab to go from Mumbai to Pune (~150 kms). It cost me ~Rs. 1800 (= 30€ , or 40 US$). Not too expensive, right? But, a pair of jeans at a mall cost me the same amount. I wasn't buying ultra fancy big brand names. Probably buying them France would be cheaper. Three of us went to a fancy place for drinks, racked up a bill of ~Rs. 2000 (~30 €). Then we left the place, went to a roadside cart and had some of the tastiest scrambled eggs for Rs. 100 (2€). If you ask me if India is cheap, the most honest answer would be "It depends".

5. Physical contact: This leaves me stumped! How does a guy greet an old friend who is a girl? Obviously, 'bisous' are out of the question. (No seriously, don't ever go randomly kiss a girl. Unless she is your girlfriend. And even then, not in public.)

But do I hug, shake hands or wave a hello? If I met the same friend in the US, it would have been a no-brainer - hugs are okay. But in India, most of the times we just stand awkwardly not knowing what to do. Of course, there are some friends who will hug, some who will shake hands and some who will wave a hello. The problem is that there is no standard "code".

On the other hand, I'd always been a "hands-off" person until a couple of years ago and changed after leaving India... so maybe this problem exists entirely in my head.

6. Long distance calls! I'd forgotten that calling someone in another state costs you more. Or travelling to another state gets you roaming charges. But all this doesn't change the fact that one still picks up the phone and randomly calls any childhood/old friend and chats to eternity.

7. Call an hour or two before and announce to your relatives that you will be dropping by. Just to ensure that they aren't out when you visit.

8. Similarly, if you want to meet your friend, the house is a good place to do so. Bars/pubs aren't places you normally go to. Otherwise, there are coffee shops, malls, random college campuses or "tekdi"s. (Pune is surrounded small hills or tekdi's, and some of them are popular walking spots).

9. I think we might be the only place where the term " of marriageable age" exists. I'm not sure, but I haven't heard it being used by non-Indians yet. :P

10. We rarely live alone or away from family. Someone is always at home, and it is impossible to feel alone. We like sharing space. We stayed at my aunt's place just before I left for France, and at that time we were 10 adults living (comfortably) in a 2~3 bedroom apartment.
And then I landed in France, came over home on a Friday afternoon to a 3 bedroom apartment that was empty. The weekend was spent interacting with very few people (physically, not in the online sense). As a friend described it, I suffered from withdrawal symptoms. For those 2 days, saying I missed India would be an understatement.

I'm open-minded...

2010-12-13T23:11:00.000+01:00

The joke on CouchSurfing (yep, I'm still pimping the site) is that every person describes himself/herself as "open-minded". In fact, you see it described so often and for so many people, that it ends up losing meaning.

I used to believe that I am open-minded and pretty liberal about other people. But I have come to realise that being truly open-minded is one of the hardest things to do. In fact, I think it might be almost impossible to be so (for me).

The whole idea behind this business is that you accept the choices that others make, the customs they follow and so on, irrespective of what you think about the matter. The actions that do not affect you are none of your business. That's how it should ideally be.

But judging someone is so easy. And so tempting. The reason you make a certain choice is because you gave it some thought and decided that you do not agree with what the other options entail. Following a religion that makes you do strange stuff, walking 3 km to save money, preferring pizza to lasagna, cheating on your girlfriend (or not) - all these choices that you made are something that you can justify to yourself. No one else can understand the reasons behind a certain decision. They can agree or disagree, but I believe it is difficult to understand.

But when I see someone doing that I may not agree with, my mind kicks into overdrive listing all the reasons that it is wrong (reasons that apply to me), and I end up deciding that the person made a bad decision. For example, I have decided for myself to never smoke (limitation not confined to just tobacco, but to other stuff too). This, however, should have no bearing on whether my friends or others should or not do that. And yet, every time I see someone I know do it, I veer towards judging them to be a lost cause.

One of the results of hanging out with non-Indians is that I can easily end up outside my comfort-zone. Unless you really face a situation that tests you, you don't know how you will react to it. So this has been a great learning experience - where I am in the process of figuring out what is (and isn't) kosher for me. And that isn't the difficult step.
Learning to not hold your standards as a measure for someone else is difficult.

Self Awareness

2010-12-13T22:18:00.001+01:00

Blogger started a new feature not too long ago. It permits you to see the "Stats" for your blog. You get to see how many pageviews you have got, which posts are popular, what browsers were used to land on this page, which links directed them here, and what country were the pages viewed in.

As far as I know, in the 70 blog posts published here, there are only 2 comments whose authors are people I have never met/known. Until recently, I believed that my "audience" consisted of the handful of friends (and a few relatives). So I have been pretty nonchalant about discussing stuff, allowing for typos and keeping the navel-gazing narcissism alive in posts.

Now I see that some people actually read some stuff I write. (I hope it's not the same 10 people contributing to ~200 pageviews in the last month. I mean, for their sake...) Also, stuff leaves me baffled. Why is that post where I link to an article about Feynman so popular (the smiley heading, maybe?). It's normal to see visits from US, India and France - that's where my friends and relatives are. But pageviews from Vietnam, Netherlands and Latvia? Does my blog seem music to Vietnamese ears (or eyes)? Maybe I'm a local hero over there, just like Simple Jack.

And why are so many of my readers using Internet Explorer?!!! That's the real tragedy in all this.

What this all has done though, is that now I'm always curious about who reads this crap I write. My ego is inflating - I've been led to believe that is not a good thing. But mostly, I spend a little time wondering about how what I write makes me look like. (I'm narcissist and self-centered, get over it.) (Yep, pointing that out totally makes it okay. Just like saying "I don't mean to offend you" before offending someone.)

The overall point is, that I hope I manage to write the way I do, at the frequency I do and not get swayed away by fame and fortune. I will remember my ~~minions~~ early readers when I go to collect my ~~Oscar~~.. err ~~Nobel Peace Prize~~... whatever it is I am supposed to win.

High on math

2010-11-28T19:56:00.000+01:00

Not too long ago (about a year or so) I had a highly random conversation. You know you are reading too much math when the following conversation occurs: (Translations in English provided when the dialogue switches to Hindi)

me: tu sadme se bahar nahi aa raha kya?
(me: You can't get yourself out of your depression?)

p: (Laughs) mere dil ke itne tukde ho gaye hai ki mein gin bhi nahi sakta
(My heart has broken into so many pieces that I gave up counting)

You cannot even imagine. ek to counting mein problem hai.
(As it is I have a problem in counting things)

me: tujhe ginna waise bhi nahi ata. (As it is you can't count)

p: upar se itna zyada count (And to top it, it's such a high number to count to)

me: uncountable. abhi koi real number system se pehchan kar le and har ek number ko apne dil ka tukda de
(Now introduce yourself to some real number system and give each number a piece of your heart)
p: whats the zoke?

me: it will be a one-one and onto relation

p: whats the zoke bhai
whats the zoke?
(zoke = joke. See this)

me: tu nahi samjhega.. aajkal mujhe math seekhna pad raha hai
(You won't get it. Recently I have been forced to learn math)

p: hahahaha

me: ur dil (Your heart) has uncountable parts.. real numbers are uncountable
p: i know
me: so dono ko bijection kar de
(So perform a bijection on the two)

p: but real number ek seedhi line par hai
(But real numbers are on a straight line)

me: tere dil ko line mein arrange kar sakte hai.. thats my point
(You can arrange the pieces of your heart in a line, thats my point)

p: mere dil ke tukde scattered over real word ka 3d axes
(But the pieces are scattered over 3 dimensional space)

me: waise bhi a line and 3d space are isomorphic
(Well a line and 3d space are isomorphic)

p: real axis aur real axes ke beech mein bijection nahi hai
(there isn't a bijection between the real axis and 3d space)

me: hota hai bhai
(There is one, trust me)

p: isomorphism hai pakka?
(There is isomorphism for sure?)

me: haan (Yes)
p: ruk sochne de (Wait lemme think)
me: [0,1] and [0,1]x[0,1] are of same uncountable type
p: okay
me: and so on
p: hmm
me: hence.. ur dil ko line mein arrange kar sakte hai --(Hence your heart can be arranged in a line)
toh wo heart ka arrow bana.. (So make an arrow out of that line)

aur kisi dil pe attack kar (And use that arrow to attack someone)

p: waah waah (Sarcastic applause)
me: cupid
p: kya baat hai
samne hota to chappal se marta tujhe aaj
(If you were somewhere near me right now, I'd have shot you.)

Well, the translations aren't word for word, but I guess they capture the feel of it. Especially in the last sentence, where the literal translation is "I'd have hit you with my shoes/flip-flops" but given an opportunity to use a gun, P would have gladly shot me.

French Strikes made easy

2010-10-20T14:15:00.000+02:00

Stranger to France? Let me explain the madness (that's what I believe it is) going on here right now.

Government wants to introduce Retirement/Pension Reform, where retirement age will be pushed from 60 to 62 and the pension benefits will kick in from age 67 instead of 65. This is for people who work in the Private Sector in France.

Employees in the private sector cannot go on strike without much repercussions. Or so I have been told. And so, the French have this "system" in place, that allows citizens to protest without anyone losing their jobs. The employees in the public sector go on strike instead.

So the buses, trains, garbage disposal system etc, which have strong unions, go on strike to express the anger and frustration of the people working in the private sector. Though this time, some of the private sector employees have also joined in. Like those who work at the refineries & fuel companies.

BBC gives more updates about the matter...

So while you are stuck at the station, waiting for your train, go ahead buy some wine, cheese and baguette and enjoy relaxed life in France.

Let's Stereotype

2010-10-11T00:28:00.000+02:00

When people find out I'm from India, one of the topics of conversation is about how different the place is from Europe/US or South America. Most people I have met have been very open-minded and ready to accept that their notion of India is probably very wrong. Generally, it is... and they have been great enough to hear me ranting about my own little version of how or what I think India is like. (Staying outside & meeting other Indians has made me realise that my knowledge and experiences in & about India are quite limited).

The thing that has begun bothering me is how this image of India (or any place) has propagated. See the photo albums of any person (read as non-Indian) who has visited India. There will be very few pictures of any monuments or historic/heritage sites. A lot of pictures of people in colorful clothing, pictures of busy markets and such. And then, pictures of "cute kids", mostly from the slums, or pictures of cows or animals on the road, or trash littered around.

Are we (= people of India) a museum? OK, I get it that you have never seen half the stuff happening here. But then if I come to the US and take a picture of a Steak n' Shake because there are none in India, why would I be looked at as an idiot? Why do so many people who visit India never find out about historical structures or the nature spots we have. Since I'm from Maharashtra, my examples are going to be - the forts built by Shivaji and the Marathas; the Ajanta - Ellora caves; the hikes in the Sahyadri mountains; the national forests/parks; the palaces built by different Mughal emperors and so on.

How many people who visit Mumbai take pictures of the CST train station? Or go to Elephanta caves and the Sanjay Gandhi National park? The Marine Drive is not as long or clean as the Promenade des Anglais in Nice, but trust me, it is a view you shouldn't miss.

Maybe when we visit some "western" country, we should try to capture the negative stereotypes. Like highlight how firefighters let a house burn in Tennessee, US. Or take pictures of dog shit over the streets in France. Or talk about how dirty the metro in Paris can be at some places. Or take pictures of the dirty subway in Rome. And talk about you can smell urine when you go down the stairs to the subway. Let us take pictures of the dirty, oily canals in Venice. When you go to Miami, ignore the great city-scape and focus on how easy it is to get drugs and talk about the crime.

I've heard that places in New York are dirty and littered too. Mention always how marriages don't last in the US even if it may not be true. Take pictures of drunken college parties and how you see people puking on the streets. Or marvel at how widespread smoking (tobacco and weed) is in France and how easy it is to get it. Marvel at how in a "modern" country like France, you will routinely see men peeing on the streets. Let's mock them because you cannot get anything on a Sunday and you are basically crippled.

Just a bit of advice before you actually go do these things. I wouldn't recommend taking pictures of kids on streets because you might just be labeled a pedophile. And stay away from the homeless people you see in the US, and don't try to take their pictures, because they might knife or shoot you. It is better to try to approach the homeless and street kids in India.

What do you exactly do?

2010-09-21T21:19:00.001+02:00

I've had to explain this too many times to too many people. And the answer is not a simple "Robotics" anymore. So I decided to write a blog post about it. Next time someone asks me this question, they get the link. :-) (Phd & scientists are all about being lazy.) Except since I like to blabber, this explanation is gonna be long winded and mostly non-scientific.

Imagine a machine which you can accurately control. It has been shaped like a human arm and has a pointy tip at the end. You can control exactly where that tip reaches, right down to under a millimeter. Since the machine tip can be accurately placed, it means that you can figure out when it is placed incorrectly. Or is placed a little off. So you can use this machine not just to place something accurately, but also to check if what has been placed is in the right spot or not. This is how measuring machines work.

Next, observe when you have to pick up a heavy container filled with water. Using just one hand, you can lift it up. But it is probably too much strain and a little hard to balance. Rather than a container, think of it as lifting a chair. Now instead, if you use both hands, not only can you lift the chair (or container), you are also guaranteed that chair is held correctly (in case of the container, the water will not spill). If two people are lifting the chair, controlling the angle of the chair is even easier. And you don't need heavy muscles for that.

A suspension bridge is similar in concept (at a very basic level).

What I just described is analogous to something called as a "parallel mechanism". I won't go into more details.

Now recall a string puppeteer. He controls his puppets with a string, and can give an amazing range of motions to the puppet. What he does is move the strings - only up and down - to give motion to the puppet. The length of the string determines how the puppets' limbs move. This is also a parallel mechanism, except here the strings are doing the work of the arms in doing the "lifting".

Now, instead of the puppet, some strings were attached to your hands. A string or two above your elbow and another string or two on your forearms. If someone pulled the strings to your forearms, and kept those to your elbow taut, only your elbow joint would move. On the other hand, if you moved your elbow joint, I could just measure the length of the string (how much it is getting pulled). Since I know that string length change corresponds to hand movement, I could just keep track of the string lengths and figure out what kinds of motions are those that can be observed in healthy persons.

---

Essentially, this above paragraph describes what we want to do. But just to be sure, we want to add accelerometers, force sensors, IR camera based motion capture systems and other possible stuff to verify and improve on the estimates obtained by measuring those "strings" or wires.

Does that make sense?

Yes, and...

2010-08-08T20:15:00.000+02:00

One of the most basic rules of improv comedy is the principle of "Yes, and". What it means is that in any improv game/ performance, if some actor says some line, the others have to support him. But supporting doesn't just mean saying "Yes" to what he said. You also have to add information to the fact, and make it a full-fledged idea.

If you see the show "Whose Line is it Anyway?", the 4 actors never say no. If one of the actors calls the other male actor "mom", the other one doesn't just call him "son" back, but also establishes some other fact of their mother-son relationship. The little time I spent trying to learn improv, I was forced to sing on stage, attempt to mimic a "spanish love songs" themed radio station, try to sing rap (thank god there is no evidence to support this happened), and acted in college made TV show. But the thing is, I had damn good fun.

Around that time, quite a few people had told me how I had successfully managed to deflate their enthusiasm, and probably made them want to avoid me. I thought I had talked to them rationally, and had given them practical and reasonable answers to questions they asked, and plans they had proposed. For some things, there is no right answer, and in such cases, it's so much better to go with the flow.

There are moments when I've decided to say "Yes" to stuff. Of course, it was sane, legal and did not involve any dangerous situations. But in the last three weeks, I went hiking, roller-bladed in Paris, saw great movies with new friends, picnic-ed & drank wine 5 days in a row on the beach. In spring, I learnt how to sail a catamaran, a course I will re-enroll for in September. And then next week, I'm going canoing in Hungary.

After one party, some people who had missed the bus needed a place to stay. They got it. :-). And then we met some nice couch-surfers on the beach in Cannes. They had come with a tent to stay on the beach, which is somewhat illegal here. My friend asked me if I could host these guys. Yes! It turned out that these two were friends of the CSer I stayed with in Paris, and were at one of the events I had been to there. I looked at the pictures I had taken there, and I found them in the crowd of people in the pictures I have clicked. Small world.

A few months ago I would not have imagined letting two people I had just met on the beach to sleep on the couch. It's really hard to let go and say yes. Knowing me, I'll soon probably go back into my shell and attempt to be my boring self. A PhD in robotics sometimes seems pretty easy compared to learning to say yes. But I guess I should keep trying...

Wave and iPad

2010-08-05T15:35:00.000+02:00

To both, Google Wave and iPad, I've heard people asking the same question - What do I use it for?

Both are really revolutionary and change the way you approach the normal. The difference, is that active development on Wave is going to stop soon, due to lack of sufficient demand, while iPad is selling millions.

What does Steve Jobs know/do that makes the difference?

Notes: Paris

2010-07-29T01:21:00.000+02:00

1: Too many people hyped it up for. Sigh.... I wonder why Rome doesn't inspire the same thoughts in people.

2: Holy SHIT the metro is everywhere. It's like big brother. And there is barely any region in the metro where you cannot get a GPRS signal, let alone normal cell phone coverage.

3: Can someone tell me a time of the year when Eiffel Tower or Louvre is little less crowded? Also, can someone gift me a wide angle lens before I go see these places again?

4: The river. It adds something to a city. The sight of a full, serene river is magnificent. It helps that there are 400+ years old buildings on either side of the river.

5: Roller blading / Inline skating in Paris is fun. And painful. My feet hurt for 2 days. Try it people. A map and skates and off you go.

The past few days, I have been wondering why I wasn't floored by Paris. It's lively, yes; and it's busy. It's got old, giant buildings with loads of history that made me think two things: "Whoa" like Keanu Reeves, and "umm, whats wrong with us Indians? What do we not want to protect our own structures and locations?" But is it a city to visit alone? I don't know.

I wasn't alone, in the strictest sense of the word. I met loads of new people. Partied, picnic-ed, ~~sight-saw~~ did some sight-seeing, lunched, roller-bladed, took-pictures, got lost, cooked, with these people. I think I made some fun friends, who I hope to catch up with soon. But there was this one moment where I wished that a bunch of people I knew, from India and US, should have been on the trip with me. A phone with internet gives you all info about a place you are visiting, but wouldn't you rather eat up half-truths told confidently?

A place where I was at bliss being alone is the Musée des Arts et Metiers. There is a link to the official website (which is mostly in French) on the wiki page. This museum holds the original Foucault's pendulum, and loads of other stuff. The best part - it's almost empty, because it's got science exhibits. The place is where the climax of the book Foucault's Pendulum is set; a book which I enjoyed a lot, even though I found it very difficult to keep up with.

Fun Fact got from the museum: To calibrate the measure of 1 meter, the distance between Barcelona and Dunkirk was measured, over a period of 7 years. They got it right to a few millimeters (2 or something). This was in 1792-9. Yea. Deep breath. Soak up that. Try measuring the length of your room correct up to 2 mm.

I spent over 2 hours on one floor of the museum, the one that housed all these stories. I rushed through the other parts, the comparatively recent exhibits (just 100 years old or so on).

Do I want to go back to Paris? Yea. I feel I have missed something. Not just the fact that I didn't go inside Louvre. Or Notre Dame. I can't pin point it, but I want to go back and stay a few more days.

Does that mean that I actually like the city after all?

Read. Write. Watch

2010-06-29T01:27:00.001+02:00

I got a sense that Salman Rushdie has a rollicking time writing his novels. While reading 'Shalimar the Clown' and 'Midnight's Children', I could feel him having a sly grin on his face, as he makes the stories jump through various hoops. One review blurb for "Shalimar.." says that it is Tarantino-esque ... and I guess I completely agree with that.

Also, I read news (rumours?) that 'Midnight's Children' is being adapted into a movie. Awesome! A much better movie to look out for than a potential Shantaram adaptation. I guess I'm "getting the hots" for books based on "magical realism". I just finished Yann Martel's "Life of Pi" a few minutes ago (literally, not more than 20 mins) and I am still stunned... in a good way. (I guess I should re-read these books and improve my vocabulary.) You know how there are movies where one scene, or a couple of lines just change the way you see the whole thing (Bruce Willis checking out that stain on his shirt in Sixth Sense)? Or which drive home the point of the movie (Camera panning to the corridor while De Niro talks on the phone in Taxi Driver).

"Life of Pi" has two such sentences. I didn't notice the first... or rather, didn't think too much about it. The second one (which occurs almost at the end) bothered me. And it was one of the reasons I looked to Wikipedia, and then when it hit me, it hit me hard (and now I'm writing this).

Moral of the above 3 paragraphs - read all the three books mentioned. Right now. (Though, you could go after you finish reading up my post. Thanks.)

-----

Pradeep has commented quite a few times about my writing having changed. I felt I knew what he meant, but couldn't pinpoint it. But one of things I did notice was that my posts have become exclusively about me. (Narcissist alert!) Everything I have written about here recently is solely about what I saw, what I thought and so on. I guess I would explain that by saying that I don't feel "right" in saying how things should be, and how people should behave. I only want to lay out my experiences and thought processes.

On the other hand, when I try to write the funnies, I go for the hyperbole. I've realised that sarcasm doesn't work on the internet. Not for me. (Thank you TSF for teaching me that.) It's seems a smart-assed, I'm-too-good-for-you attitude when read and is quite off-putting. And then the commenters promptly descend into name-calling and fighting with the post author and each other. (Goodwin's law!)

----

How come no one has realised yet that Indian movies are overly long and that the editors and script writers are highly unused? I get the TV channel "Zing" here, which goes extreme lengths to show only the bad-ness of 80's and 90's cinema. Every movie then was a series of sketches. The details varied. A set of sketches was separated from the others by a song. For example:

Bad guys are introduced doing something bad, abrupt cut, hero / heroine is introduced. Each separately. One gets a song. Sometimes the hero gets fight sequence to show his bad-assness. . Random beats in this segment are punctuated by bad guy doing more bad-assery. Finally, once the girl has finally fallen in love with guy, the bad guy does something to directly affect good guy. Good guy pissed. Revenge time. Big fight sequence. Good guy wins.

Even the new Hindi films, although closer to the 2 hour mark, are filled with such sketches and still feel overly long. Sigh.

Science!

2010-06-09T01:54:00.000+02:00

Aluminium reflects light. Especially when it is IR.

IR cameras go crazy. They detect markers everywhere. "I don't know what all to track!", they seem to scream. A4 sheets of white paper help somewhat. Not much though. A piece of paper, torn from your notebook, stuck on the offending portion of aluminium does marginally better. It works not because it doesn't reflect, but because it "reflects" it in some other direction. Thank those imperfect sticky tapes and bad planning that prevent the paper from forming a flat surface.

"Aha!", you say. "Black is black because it doesn't reflect. Hence! Therefore! Cover with black." Sadly, a robotics lab is not the art department. Paper, is white, and meant to be stuff on which research descriptions and equations ought to be printed. The spare black trash bag is used to test the hypothesis. It's glossy. It reflects. Less. But not zero reflection.

Next brain wave - "glossy" was the problem. See discarded packaging boxes lying around. Pick up one box, ~~go ninja on them.~~ (Ninjas are Japanese. Do they practice origami when dealing with paper? If so, they are in trouble. Origami involves only folding paper, no tearing. Hence, to be safe --->) Go Samurai on them. (Shit! They are Japanese too. But at least we know they carry swords. OK, back to science.) Cover reflecty surfaces with 'packaging boxes paper'. Success!

Moral learnt: Visible color black means visible light is not reflected. Also, since it is infrared light, you must revise your entire notion of reflection of light. Remember the goddamn physics you learnt, fool.

Many days later, figuring out what to replace your crude packaging paper with, to make it more professional and tidy, gives you headaches. Black cloth seems to be a good bet. Dommage! C'est marche pas. :(

If cloth won't work, what will? In the back of the mind, here is what goes on: The paper was sorta rough and thick. The cloth was sorta silky smooth and thin. Hmm, a pattern, Watson! Probably thick/ big sheet of chart paper will work.

Notice a shadow on the screen as seen in one of the cameras. A piece of foam is causing it. Aha! Is it causing a shadow (i.e blocking something), or is it genuinely absorbing the IR light? Move it over to cover that aluminium portion right next to IR emittors, and see how it performs when it receives a full blast of infrared love. It's. Still. Black! ZING! A clothed version of Eureka Eureka!

Research. It's not always about math equations and cool code.

Fleeting...

2010-05-18T02:29:00.001+02:00

If you haven't signed up on CouchSurfing, go do it. I started being involved in it a few months back so that I could meet some English speaking people close to where I live. I haven't hung out much with locals on CS, but it looks like a good place that attracts interesting people. Or maybe everyone is equally interesting.

The most rewarding thing is the experiences with the travellers you meet. The idea behind CS is that you host some traveller and let him/her "surf your couch". Free. And when you travel to another place, someone else "repays" you with their hospitality. Meeting these travellers is an eye-opener. You realise you barely know the world.

I met a guy from Estonia, who has been hitchhiking all across Europe for the last 8-9 months, living with CSers. He plans to return home for a "recharge" and then head to countries he hasn't seen yet. Another guy I met has lived in 6 countries in the last 6 years. He has travelled to more than 30 or 40. He lost count. This, of course, not on business. A girl who has lived in Turkey, Australia and does not remember her first couchsurfing experience, because it was so long ago. She is as old as me. A guy, still in his teens, who knows boats inside out, has sailed to more countries than I have been to, and is living encyclopedia of music. A girl, who doesn't want money but probably "lives" more than I do. A retired American soldier who now works as an analyst.

You meet these people and realise this is nothing you imagined possible. Things they have done would be impossible to do back home, or would be considered foolish. People routinely take a year off. What's the hurry? Back in India, everyone would be horrified.

And in spite of all the differences, you get along perfectly with the people you meet. You spend a few days and share unforgettable experiences. And then, you leave (or they leave), with almost no idea of whether (and not just when) you might meet them again. It probably works the same with everyone you meet. Most of the people I met in school, or college will never bump into me again. Even if we do, we will barely have much to talk. Even close friends have grown apart, and some of us great buddies can barely meet more than once a year.

I'm fine with that. I had time with these people and got to know them. Spend time with them. Moving away from friends was always tough, but you have enough time to deal with it. With good friends, you probably spend weeks having parties and meet-ups just to say bye. What is weird for me is that you get only a few days with interesting people, and then you probably never see them again. So the days are packed with discussions and opinion sharing. A few days of connecting and getting to know people, and then it is back to square one. Repeat with different set of people.

It is fleeting, but I'm happy it's happening to me.