The Idea Vault

Tales from the Idea Vault

2013-04-14T00:40:00.000+05:30

It is Live! The e-book is out! It's available for purchase on Amazon's website here - Tales from the Idea Vault

I was wanting to collect my short stories and make a book out of it earlier. It would be a good way to have all the stories in one place and getting a default copyright, or at least attribution, for the written work. The option of getting it published through a publisher was tempting. But going through the process of finding a publisher, facing rejections, understanding the workings of pricing and royalties and most importantly, delaying the release, thereby reducing enthusiasm, made me shy away from it. Self publishing it would be; again, like my first novel - Everything Has a Purpose. For this one, I chose the Kindle Direct Publishing. It's a platform I came across when I bought my Kindle and forgot about it. The enthusiasm to publish it there was re-kindled by my friend Niranj Vaidyanathan. I must also thank him for going through the first few revisions of this novel and for providing frank feedback. If the book is in presentable format, it is thanks to him.

Coming to the title of the book: It's too simplistic. Tales from the Idea Vault are the stories I've written on my blog, which I changed to The Idea Vault (from Professional Pakau) some time back. As to the idea behind Idea Vault itself, I'll share the Preface of the book.

Ideas are the soul of an inspiration. Ideas are the rush of blood that you feel when you are captured in the grip of a thought. Ideas are the views that you are suddenly made aware of after contemplating on a thought for long. Every idea is a unique experience to the person who thought it up. But how do you share these with someone else? Language is a hindrance when it comes to transferring the exact experience which has been felt. While language fails in providing adequate terms to describe an experience, it makes up by helping us describe a world strung delicately by words into a grand design that we call a story. It is the story that connects two people. It is the story that shares the experience of an idea. And it is in the stories where the greatest of all ideas have been hidden.

Like everyone else, I am a collector of ideas. I store these ideas deep within my mind and I hold them as dear as a treasure. I call it my Idea Vault. Sometimes, in a state of heightened consciousness, some of these ideas collude with each other and force me to give them a form. What comes out are short stories. I share some of these escaped ideas with you as the Tales from the Idea Vault.

I hope you enjoy reading the tales that have escaped from the vault. If you don't, please share your criticism. As is often said, no feedback is worse than a bad review.

Update: Q: Is Kindle necessary to read this book? A: It can be read in the Kindle for PC (or Mac) application also - Kindle for PC / Kindle for Mac / Kindle on iTunes

The Biggest Fan

2013-03-31T12:20:00.000+05:30

Dear Mihir and Dear Manoj,

\m/ - That is how we give salutations in our hallowed order, don't we? The order of rock-n-roll. Fist pump in the air, fingers spread out sideways, all energy directed through it. I am certain it is this salutation that makes the atmosphere in concerts electrifying. Suffice to say that your band - Duality - rocks and rolls, like no other. I would congratulate you on the release of your first album - The First Born, but that would be too formal for our order. A fist bump, a growl or just a w00t would be more appropriate. w00t!

It's time to introduce myself. You know me as Krypto. Yes, that's me. I am the faceless person with whom you have interacted on Facebook. I am the maniac that on one fine day flooded your notifications with likes on all of your status updates. I couldn't help it. I was excited. I was so inspired that I couldn't control myself. It was the first time I came across something that resonated with my ideas almost entirely. Maybe a background might help.

I teach Physics to students here in my town. It is my goal in life to make my students as curious about Physics as I am. And if I can't make it interesting, they won't find it interesting. There is this concept of waves and particles for explaining properties of Matter. Some properties are easily explained with the particle theory. Some explained easily with the wave theory. The fact that both need to be independent of each other is the paradox that triggered the field of quantum mechanics. I'm still a classical physicist. And it is my lectures on wave-particle duality that makes my students like Physics. It makes them inquisitive. Which is where Duality, your band, comes in. A student of mine came across your music and shared your Facebook page.

Pardon me for going overboard, but I would like to call myself your biggest fan. I wouldn't tolerate anyone else taking that position. I would prove myself to be a bigger admirer. I've heard every song you have ever played on soundcloud; at least 20 times. I know all the 30 places that you have performed at. I know the set list you played in each event. The covers you played. Not only have I memorised the lyrics of your own songs, I know all the back stories too. How Mihir suddenly came up with the lyrics of Stranger. How Manoj wrote the lyrics of The First Born in a boring lecture in college (I hope none of my students are as bored!). I've seen the videos a hundred times. I see you both in it and I can tell how your personalities in real life would be. One outgoing, adventurous, willing to push the limits - Particle. Another calm, composed, flowing through, while living within, with crests and troughs, giving a balance - Wave. I can look at the lyrics of Let It Rain and tell why Mihir chose words like "They can not liberate, enslaved lives". I run through the lyrics of Rust and I know why Manoj would choose to write "While the world is paralysed".

I attended your album launch. When I learnt of its release, I was overjoyed. I had to be there on such a grand occassion for Duality. I booked the train tickets and booked a hotel for my stay. It was my first trip to Chennai. The train takes 3 days to reach there. The language people speak there is as alien to me as Quantum Physics is to my new students. But I was going to be at your album launch! I was finally going to meet you both! I can't tell you how excited I was to finally witness you perform live. Loved your new songs! You both are exactly as I imagined you to be. I saw Manoj slip a tune, and immediately noticed how Mihir corrected it. I heard Mihir dropping his tone a bit and Manoj covering for it. You complement each other so well. Duality! Maybe the crowd wasn't so appreciative. I wanted to cheer every song, maybe even sing along. But I could always tell you what I thought of it when the show was over, right? Then you played Crusader and the crowd finally gave you your due.

I was thinking of all the things I was going to tell you both, when you began with the thanksgiving. I was shocked when you mentioned me, Manoj. The words are etched in my mind.

"Finally, I would like to thank all our fans. We wouldn't be here if not for you all. Your appreciation leaves us thrilled. Your criticism makes us work harder. Your continued support is the reason why we get inspired every morning; to make something as beautiful as this music. So thank you, fans. And especially, you, Krypto. You are our biggest motivator."

That was it! That was the moment when reality dawned on me. When you mentioned my name in that crowd. That was when I realised what our relationship was. I need your music to inspire myself every day. To think of new ways to inspire the coming generation in Physics. To never give up. Every time I lose faith, I turn to your music. And in turn, I prod you to churn out better and more inspiring work. You need me, as much as I need you. "It controls you. It governs you. Gives you the choice in Life. Duality."

I bought your CD and left for my hotel without introducing myself. Had I met you, Mihir and Manoj, I know we would become friends. I know you would be as glad as I was in my heart to see you. But friendship would break this arrangement, this bond that we have of inspiring each other. It is not something you want. It is not something I want. It is our Duality.

Rock On! \m/

Krypto

Review: Kindle Paperwhite

2013-03-23T00:40:00.000+05:30

I purchased a Kindle Paperwhite last month. I was eagerly awaiting international shipment of this product and I placed an order almost immediately after its announcement. It was delivered to India in 20 days after customs clearance. I paid $193 for it ($139 for the product + $12 for shipment + $42 for customs clearance. Close to Rs. 11,000/-) After a month, I have the following review to share from my experience of the product.

Paperwhite vs. Paperback
The display of Kindle Paperwhite has the electronic ink technology which is a close mimic of ordinary paper. You can read it in broad daylight and you can read it from a very wide, almost 180-degree angle. To read it in the night, unlike its predecessors, the Paperwhite has built-in light. I used to trouble people at home by keeping lights on in my bedroom while reading a book late into the night. With the Paperwhite, I can lie down on my bed and read a book in the darkness. If I tend to drift away into sleep, I press the only button on the Kindle and put it on standby.

Is it as convenient as holding a book?
Maybe more convenient. The Kindle is 6.7 inches in height with a screen size of 6 inches. It is 4.6 inches wide and as thin as 0.36 inches. (see image) I've read some thick books (e.g. Tolstoy's War and Peace, Vikram Seth's Suitable Boy) and I've been weighed down by them, figuratively and literally speaking. The Paperwhite weighs just 213 grams and is perfect for light reading, literally speaking. I am a lazy person and as I loll around in my bed, I can continue reading in any posture I find myself in.

Touching words give meaning
In a rather profound touch, an excellent feature is provided in the Kindle application. Touching particular words will result in a pop-up with a dictionary entry of the word. Terms can also be looked up on Wikipedia (if Wi-Fi is turned on). Additionally, words, sentences can be highlighted, noted or shared. You can choose one of 6 available fonts, change their sizes, alter line-spacing and margins to what you find convenient. There are utilities which allow you to jump to particular pages or chapters, others which keep track of your reading speed and mention location within book, time left to read book and time left in chapter. Kindle books have an option of X-Ray which shows characters, terms, chapters and their mentions throughout the book.

What about smell of a fresh book?
I'm biased towards smells from gadgets over smell of paper. But hopefully, in the future, Amazon might provide a spray-on perfume which will smell like your favourite paper. Do put in a feature suggestion.

Book formats
The Kindle store is one touch away. Close to a million books of Kindle format (AZW and AZW3) can directly be downloaded to the device. Which, of course, is after you pay for it. If you've provided details of a credit card, a purchase is one-touch away (it's as convenient as it is scary!). Apart from that, I tried loading a document in the .mobi format and it worked fine. The only features which didn't work were the X-ray (summary of book, characters etc.) and Jump to page feature. There was one document which lost all formatting and was impossible to read with no paragraph and page breaks. It was an exception, rather than norm. I tried a PDF document and it worked fine too. Except, the options to change fonts, sizes or margins disappears entirely. Might be irrelevant.

Kindle vs. Tablets
The temptation to buy a tablet was high. The electronic ink (with built-in light) not being a strain on the eye is an advantage to the Kindle. However, the technology is limited to black and white display. If you plan to read colourful comics or graphic novels, this might not be an appropriate device. The clincher was my thought that without the distraction of Internet, I would concentrate on reading the book alone. Alas! The Paperwhite has an experimental browser which is as good as a mobile browser. You can view web pages for news, check emails, Facebook, Twitter, view images and browse the Kindle Store, of course. But you cannot view videos (no Youtube distraction, yay!). The keyboard is terrible. I can't find a way to shift the cursor to a location to correct a sentence.

Touch screen
Which brings me to the capacitive touch screen. It isn't very sensitive. For reading a book it is perfect. Tap on the right side, next page arrives. Tap on the left, you can see the previous page. But the precision which better touch screens provide, effective while browsing and editing written content, is lacking. The swipe is used in the home screen and during web browsing. While switching screens, there's a glitch in the screen as the images change. It's part of the electronic ink technology as the particles rearrange. I've a feeling that the life of the touch screen will be 3 to 4 years. After that, I'll have to knock instead of touch!

Battery life
In the month that I've had the Kindle, I've charged it twice. I use it for 2-3 hours a day and the Wi-Fi is always on. So, a charge lasts for 3 weeks. (I had a problem after charging for the first time when the unit wouldn't switch off or move to standby. I put it on charge again and while charging, switched it off. Fixed the issue). The unit starts charging when you connect it to a terminal, so battery life is not an issue. On stand-by, the particles of e-ink just rearrange into some beautiful images set as default screen savers and consume no battery charge at all.

Storage and Management
The device has 2 GB of storage. Of which, 1 GB is used by the Operating System. e-books being small in size, the remaining 1 GB is sufficient. Additionally, you are given 5 GB of space on Amazon's cloud and it's just as easily accessible through the Kindle. Managing books and documents might get inconvenient if the number of documents is high. You can make collections and shift documents under directories. But, if like me, you are an inefficient organiser, managing too many documents could get tricky. Luckily, there's a search across contents available and it's just one touch away.

To summarise main points:

Pros:
Electronic Ink
Strain free built-in light
High battery life
Ease of handling

Cons:
Lack of Colour
No Sound (for audio books)
Capacitive touch screen
Bad keyboard interface

P.S: I've not been an avid reader of books. I barely read 15 books a year. I've rarely re-read books and giving rack space for books is an issue. Which is why I prefer a lending library. But my library didn't have many books I've wanted to read. Which makes it easier for me to become an avid reader of e-books over books and makes perfect sense to get an e-reader. The cost of e-books is still an issue. The prices of books are in dollars as compared to rupees. e-books costing $5 might be cheap in U.S, but when converted to rupees (at a rate at least 3 rupees more than standard rates) it's quite high. I am hoping that Amazon opening an Indian e-commerce website might give more affordable rates. Until then, I'll try my best to maintain a monthly budget for books.

The Forgetful Husband

2013-03-03T18:09:00.002+05:30

Mrs. Kavitha Karnik's house was in order. It was in perfect order. Every article in the house had its place and it was never out of its place. Vessels in kitchen had their places within shelves and you would be assured to find them there every time. Home appliances had their positions and any accessories for them were right beside them. The various remote controls to electronics had their own compartments. It would be unthinkable to make the TV's remote control run the air conditioner. Her husband had once tried to find the Channel No. 10 and had ended up giving everyone a freeze. The books had their shelves and they were sorted by categories. One, in the mood to read about the behaviour of animals in the wild, wouldn't want to come across a book that would teach you how to roast said animals. Everything had to be in order.

Among Kavitha's circle of friends, they called her house a museum. And in this museum, these said friends had now gathered.

"Am I allowed to sit here?" asked one. "Did I leave my footwear in the right compartment?" asked another. "Are we allowed to eat sitting on your sofa?". "Is there a seating arrangement you have prepared for us to sit?" and similar other questions were raised.

"Why? Have we decided to play musical chairs today?" asked Kavitha. "Of course, you can sit where ever you wish to sit." Everyone seemed relieved. "But only until I start the music. Then you'll have to switch your seats. And if you forget to pick your plate or even a little bit of food falls on my sofa or chairs, when you are moving around, I'll see to it that you will be hungry for the rest of the day." The relief was replaced by consternation. "I'm just joking!" said Kavitha and they all laughed.

Lakshmi was a new friend and had come there for the first time. She didn't know what others knew and out of curiosity asked the obvious. "Are you so meticulous about everything? Is this like a disorder? Like an obsession or something?" she asked. She was riddled with stares that hit her like darts on her face which was now the dart board. Every stare was hitting the bulls eye. A short silence followed, which slowly began filling Lakshmi's heart with fear.

"It isn't a obsessive compulsive disorder, or OCD as everyone calls it." replied Kavitha. "It's just that we like to keep things simple around our house."

"Oh. I didn't mean to sound rude. But I don't understand how things can be simpler with this level of meticulousness."

"It's alright. I get asked this a lot. It's simpler for my husband this way. He has this condition where he works efficiently only with his short term memory. So, if everything has its place, it's easier for him."

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that."

"There's nothing to be sorry about. Let me explain. If you've been to a fast food restaurant which has about a hundred customers, you would have noticed how the waiter works. He doesn't take notes on table number and order like bigger restaurants. There's no time for it. He remembers the order, narrates it to the kitchen manager, delivers it when ready, prepares a bill and forgets all about it. If he remembered everything everyone ordered, forever, he would drown in all the information. Even in his dreams the poor guy would be completing orders. How they work is by using their short term memory. They repeat the order over in their head, memorise and once the bill has been paid, erase it. My husband works just as efficiently because of his condition. He doesn't have much of a long term memory."

"It must be difficult for you."

"Not really. We love to work together to find solutions. In the beginning, every task to be done at home was put down in steps and every article which was involved in the step used to have a sticky note on it. Like something on a washing machine would have -

1. Put the plug in the power socket.
2. Insert water hose into the tap.
3. Open the lid.
4. Put washing powder (2 spoons).
5. Load the clothes from cloth basket.
6. Switch the power on.
7. Press Start.

"Such notes would be stuck on all appliances and everywhere around the house. We even had sticky notes for managing sticky notes. Sticky notes would be part of our monthly purchases. This one time, I was so angry with him that while he was sleeping, I stuck a sticky note on his head and it read - 'I HATE YOU'. I woke up next morning and walked over to brush my teeth when in the mirror I saw a note on my head which read - 'But I don't. I love you'."

All the women started gushing on hearing of that gesture. "So how do your kids cope with it?" asked Lakshmi.

"They've grown up around him and they are accustomed to it all. This one time, in a hurry, I asked him to pick up the kids from school. I forgot to give further instructions on what next to do. So there he was at school, with the kids with him and not knowing what to do. The kids were smart enough to know his predicament. When I came back late in the evening, they entered the home with ice cream candies in their hands, after having gone to the amusement park, the zoo and having eaten everything I forbid them to eat. Those mischievous scoundrels! They took full advantage of the situation."

The ladies had a wonderful evening afterwards and the conversation drifted away from Kavitha's husband. When everyone had left, Lakshmi stayed behind. She was still curious. She asked Kavitha "I admire whatever you are doing. I can't even imagine how I would flip out if my husband was as forgetful as yours. I am amazed at how you have overcome these issues with so much courage. Specially, with raising kids alongside."

"I thank you for being so concerned. Like I said earlier, it isn't tough because he recognises his own shortcomings and is always forthcoming with solutions and their implementations. The kids enjoy it too."

"But even then, there are things for which long term memory is necessary. Fond memories of the past, experience which comes from bad memories, shared moments of intimacy and nostalgia. It's like a whole range of emotions is locked out for you to feel."

"I can see that you've thought about this. It makes me happy, this concern of yours. There was a time when I used to be sad for being unable to enjoy those emotions you mentioned. Then I thought about the problem. Here is a man who works only on short term memories. Given a task and the steps to perform it, he does it perfectly and the moment it is complete, he forgets about it entirely. All of it wiped out from his memory; forever. It felt like living with a robot. But I knew he was a human in many ways and I tried hard to look for ways to bring out that human side of him. It was tough. Until I found the solution for it."

"Oh, you did?! What was it? Another level of tasks? Like sticky notes for sticky notes?"

"Something like that, yes. What was essential was to find when those levels would appear. I thought hard about the problem and I realised that the moment the memory is erased is when the task is complete. If a task wasn't complete, he would be a bit irritated and would keep thinking about it and keep asking us what was to be done next. That was when it struck me. Only way for me to make him remember things worth remembering was by ensuring he never completed the tasks associated with them.

"I read a bit about it. There's something called the Ziegarnik effect. In many ways, we all behave like him. We too forget so many little details of our lives after we have completed them and got a mental closure on it. I read that many writers used the Ziegarnik effect to write incomplete stories. They would end it abruptly and would promise to reveal everything in the next publication. The suspense would ensure that readers would read the subsequent story. They wanted a closure on the story too. TV shows too use the Ziegarnik effect effectively by ending the story at a crucial juncture and leaving us with a to be continued.

"When it comes to our family, with the happy moments, with sad moments and the intimate ones, I improvise. It is the reason why he continuously thinks about the kids; about me. Because he thinks his responsibilities to us aren't complete yet. If he didn't get a closure, he would continue remembering it. It makes it easier for him to cope with bad events. I tell him it's all over and in the past and he can forget it. We cannot. It's his gift. You mentioned nostalgia. That is something I've still not figured out how to evoke in him. But I have an idea which I'm working on. Maybe in a month or two, I could tell you how it turned out."

Books: 2012 & 2013

2013-01-01T21:30:00.003+05:30

Greetings, Earthlings! 2013 is here. It's not important in the astronomical sense of our Earth completing a revolution around the Sun starting from a random point on its orbit. It's important because we Earthlings survived 21-Dec-2012. It isn't as if I believed in the doomsday rumours surrounding the day. I had actually relied on that prediction to come true so I wouldn't have to do all the pending work at office that I keep delaying. That didn't work out well, as more work joined the pile. I didn't even plan much for my bland personal life beyond 21-Dec-2012. Had the world ended that day, there would at least be one person who would have died peacefully. So 2013 is here and I have no clue what to do with it.

What did I read in 2012?
As is known to regular readers, I read little and I read it slowly. Very s - l - o - w - l - y. Goodreads had a reading challenge where I vowed to read 20 books in 2012. I managed just 15. Most of them turned out to be Science Fiction. It wasn't planned that way, but it turns out I enjoy the genre more than others. (An analysis of the why portion of the statement gives me opportunity to write another blog post) Finished Arthur Clarke's Odyssey series. Absolutely loved it. Started Isaac Asimov's Foundation series. Absolutely loving it. Couple of Michael Crichton books and one by David Baldacci. Also read The Idiot by one of my favourite authors Fyodor Dostoevsky.
In non-fiction, there was P. Sainath's Everybody loves a Good Drought. And Richard Dawkins The Selfish Gene. Both affected my thoughts and philosophy quite deeply.
And then there was Kurt Vonnegut. Life would be boring if I wouldn't find something new to inspire me. Vonnegut's Slaughter House 5 was on my Flipkart wishlist and a friend surprised me by gifting it. So it goes. There was something about the narrative style of Kurt Vonnegut that held me wowed. There wasn't much to the story, but all through the book, all I could think was, "If I could write stories, this is how I would want to write them." I've read and admired the narrative styles of Dostoevsky, Tolstoy and Salman Rushdie earlier. Even Orhan Pamuk's My Name is Red showed how magical a weaver he is with words. But something so simple in Vonnegut's writing struck very deeply. I hope to read more of Vonnegut in the coming year.

What of 2013?
Which brings us to this 2013 again. It's the elephant in the room. 364 days more of it, demanding me to entertain it for all those days. A little deviation here. Let me relate a story that my boss relates quite often. He'd gone for a mountaineering course in the Himalayas long back. The trainer used to be in the Army earlier and he led the training in a similar style. Strength and endurance training would be taxing and when someone in the group couldn't do some of the exercises, and there always was someone who couldn't, the trainer would yell at him. It was a young group of mostly 20-somethings and they talked back to the 50-year-old trainer. "Oh! Why don't YOU do 20 push ups after running 3 kms?" And then, just like that, the trainer would do it. As the complainant stood dumbfounded, the trainer would calmly walk over to him and say, "Double. Now." Since I managed a measly 15 in 2012, I resolve to read 30 books in 2013. Double. This year.

What to read?
Someone on Twitter once wrote: "If you read one book a month, you would read 120 books in 10 years. Choose wisely." It hits you and knocks you over. Recommended reading list of books is always too long and it always keeps increasing. To complete that list would need a superpower of sorts. (Recently read of a man who read 366 books in 366 days) The next option would be to choose a good subset of that list. A good mix of books desperately wanted to be read for long, favourite genre, a new author, a favourite author, some non-fiction and a few more fillers just to ensure that they make good books seem good, by being not so good. In short, selecting a short list of what to read needs analysis and work of its own. But that should be fun as well. If nothing, it helps in building up aspirations and excitement around those books.

I had planned to write about the problem with my library, buying and storing books and buying a Kindle. I had also planned on writing about books and movies made based on them. But I'm bored of my own writing which makes me hungry. 2013 is here and I hope the hunger to read and learn isn't satisfied this year either. I need it. To feel inspired.

On Incomplete Front Page Articles: A Letter

2012-10-26T19:21:00.000+05:30

Respected Sir,

An Uncle of mine suffers from a curious case of Attention Deficit Dis.. something. He starts talking about a certain topic and suddenly goes quiet. The silence used to be mistaken for a breath taking moment, considering the speed at which he spoke. But when he started speaking again, he would speak about something completely different. When prodded to complete the previous speech, he'd ask us to wait until he finished his current speech. Needless to say, this speech too met the same fatality of being incomplete. I can't tell you how frustrating it is to have a convers...

I write to you as a friend. Because I have a feeling your editors are also acquainted with my Uncle and you are facing this unending problem too. They, your editors, seem to have picked up this strange habit of my Uncle -- of starting a breathtaking story and not letting it reach its deserved end. For instance, take today's front page. While I was immersed in the steely story of some Naveen Jindal making claims against a news channel, the article stopped abruptly and wouldn't end. “The biggest gain is that there is no further..." (Continued on Page 12) it said and left me filled with enormous suspicion of the gains. In my eagerness to continue further to mentioned page, my eyes fell upon some beautiful advertisement of gadgets, power cut schedules, disturbing photographs of politicians, editorials about them and cartoons. By the time I reached page 12, I had forgotten why I was there and closed the newsp...

I just remembered that I could read the news on your website. I quickly search for today's paper and lo! - http://www.thehindu.com/todays-paper/jindal-plays-cd-claims-zee-editors-demanded-rs-100-crore/article4033163.ece. Even here, I'm directed to a Page 12. But I have no clue where the Page 12 would be. Luckily, the distractions on the webpage are just as plentiful as in your paper. I ended up buying a gadget from one of the advert...

Coming back to your editors: Could you please request them not to spend much time with my Uncle? And ask them to finish words, sentences and paragraphs before directing us to another page? It would be grateful for my attention span. As for my Uncle, his unending problems are being handled by my beloved Aunt. What she is doing is... (Continued in next email)

Regards,

Sudhamshu Hebbar

(I mailed that to The Hindu's Reader's Editor)

Encounters While Time Travelling

2012-10-21T16:52:00.001+05:30

The memories are fading. I can feel them slowly receding into a corner into the realm of the forgotten. I want to hold on to them. It has nothing to do with their being good or bad. They just belong to a time when I was happy. I like regurgitating them in my brain and imagining myself to be happy again. But they are fading and I try hard to keep them alive.

My mind, it is a time machine. I close my eyes and wait till everything is dark. Electricity passes through synapses. I can feel it. There are images cropping up. Faces of people flash by. Saeed, Geraldo, Louis, Adam, Suleyman, Yujel, Rasheed, Mike, Mustapha, Tom. Their names get registered. Some are nameless faces. They all keep scrolling by so fast. I concentrate harder. It is slowing down. I'm getting closer. It's happening. The mind is about to jump back in the past. Concentrate. Just a little longer. Grit your teeth. Close your eyes harder. Embrace the darkness.

It's 31st of August, 2012. I'm here in a Saudi Airlines flight. Passengers from Jeddah are filling the seats to fly to Istanbul. The window seat next to me is empty. A bearded, spectacled man in a yellow t-shirt, blue jeans and black Adidas sports shoes walks in. He deposits a boy in a seat in front. Holds the hands of a young girl and puts her in a seat before it. Behind him are two indistinguishable women in burkhas. They take seats next to the kids and the man smiles at me and says, "Excuse me brother. Can I take my seat?" Saeed has sat down and he offers me a chewing gum. "It's good when you're flying. Helps your ears." I politely decline. I'm prejudiced right now. I didn't like the Saudis. They made me feel unwanted in the airport. Saudis ignored my existence. I feel hostile towards them, a reciprocation of what they feel towards me. Saeed is a Saudi and he is reading a local Saudi newspaper and laughing at some news. He's flipping around his smart phone taking pictures. Takes out a laptop and starts watching episodes of The Office and he's laughing again. I've answered his polite inquiries about me. My turn. Saeed is working with the police in Riyadh. He graduated as a software engineer, like myself. I find that interesting. He says it's fine. In between helping out his kids to the bathroom, we're talking of the vacation in Turkey and our expectations of it. I like Saeed. I don't dislike Saudis anymore.

The face of an Ecuadorian woman flashes by. I concentrate. "What's her name?" She's fading. I can sense she doesn't like me. No, that's another woman, the French. *puff* Gone. I'm in a bus in Istanbul. It's 2nd of September, 2012. As I watch buildings, trees, mountains, cable cars and the sea outside the window, a face is smiling at me. Subconsciously, I return the smile.

"Hello! I'm Geraldo. Where are you from?"
"Hello! I'm Sudhamshu. I'm from India."
"You know, back in Brazil, where I come from, they tell me I look like an Indian! You see it too?"
"Yeah. A bit." I lied.
His hands are next to me. "See? Our skin colour also matches a bit." I smile.

I want to be careful. I don't know how racism is perceived in the West. Geraldo is from Sao Paulo. His favourite football club is Santos. He came on a vacation to Turkey with his girlfriend. They enjoyed Greece, Bodrum and partied in Istanbul. His girlfriend went back home and Geraldo has 15 days to relax. He's also going to Cappadocia. He's reading a George R. R. Martin book. Sudharsan discusses the book and a TV Series. A month later, in a moment of embarrassment, I will realise that this book is A Storm of Swords and they are talking about the TV Series Game of Thrones, which I thoroughly enjoy. Geraldo gets into a bus to Göreme 30 minutes before us.
It's fading again. I grit my teeth. There's more. We meet next morning at Nevşehir. There's a confusion and our phone isn't working. We used Geraldo's phone to clear the confusion. Not this, something else. The memory comes in bits. Geraldo couldn't find his hotel. He landed up at our hotel. We spotted him at a cafe. He was reading the George R. R. Martin book.

"Taawwm! Waake up Tawm! Taaawwmm! It's 4 now. Wake up!" If some girl called me so lovingly I'd keep pretending to sleep. But not Tom. He woke up and came down from his bed. Which was the bunk bed above me. Tom is from Hong Kong and he works in a hospital. He's very meticulous with his luggage. He knows a bit about India and is a nice guy to talk to. He hasn't planned the rest of his trip. But our paths cross again -- in Pamukkale. We recognise him on the travertines. Despite the mud from the calcium carbonate springs packed on his face. He picks up some more mud in a bottle. Now he's asking Sudharsan to take a picture of him with the Sun setting in the background. We meet him again in the bus that takes us to Selçuk.
What? What are you asking? Your voice isn't so clear here in the past. "Who is the what?" You need to speak louder. Oh! Who is the girl who woke him up? Not his wife; or his girlfriend. Just a friend he made in our dormitory.

I'm losing the grip on my memory flashes. Images are flashing by too fast to comprehend. Persistence of vision, perception of motion. If I blinked fast, some images might stick. Like seeing the blades of a moving fan. It's working. There! That was Mustapha. He was the pilot with whom I did tandem paragliding. And that, that was Mike -- an Englishman from Birmingham. He piloted the hot air balloon. There's Rasheed from Netherlands. Now I can hear singing. A Turkish song. I can't identify the words. It's a love song. It's filled with grief. I can sense the emotions. The man is questioning the lover he lost. Begging explanation from her to explain why she left him so sad. The date is 4th of September, 2012. I'm in a cave hostel in Göreme and Suleyman is singing. Suleyman works at the hostel and he likes Football. He's a fan of Fenerbahçe. We're talking of Football. Of Nuri Şahin, Dirk Kuyt, Raul Meireles, Andre Santos. I forgot to tell him about Eboue. Football. There was a keychain hanging from a van. A jersey of Fenerbahçe hanging from it. I asked Yujel if he was a Fenerbahçe fan & his ever smiling face morphed into disgust. "No way! I'm a Galatasaray fan. The driver is Fener fan." Yujel is our guide for the Southern tour of Göreme. He laughs & jokes all the time and tells interesting stories of the past of this town. When we told him we were from India, he asked if we knew Tamil. "That song, Kolaveri, it's hilarious!"
I am laughing as I remember him laughing. Indescriptable, nameless faces keep scrolling by, but the synapses are not forming completely. I think it is 10th of September, 2012. There's that German woman. She was in Konya, near the luggage locker. Or did we meet her at Ephesus? Or in both the places? There's the Australian wind surfer. Was his name Adam? His face flew away with the wind. I spot faces of beautiful girls flash by. She was in Fethiye, that was on 8th, she was in Pamukkale, on 9th, she in Istanbul, on 1st, she paraglided on 7th. All whizzing past faster and faster. I can't get a hold on this. The flashing faces finally stop at Louis.
It is 12th of September, 2012. Sultan Hostel's dorm is so quiet, a ruffling plastic cover is considered noise and so I'm whispering when I talk to Louis. Louis is a law student on vacation. Louis is wearing a T-shirt that says Australia. Louis is from Bordeaux, France. I tell him I know how it's spelt because I know the Football club. He plays Rugby. He has the physique. Louis says people from Nice are not nice. Louis is telling stories from Argentina. Something about Falkland Islands. *poof*

I'm in an airplane going back home. Babies crying loudly on my left. Babies crying loudly in front. Babies crying loudly in the back. Synchronised baby crying in the airplane. I turn around and spot a known face near the toilet. I wave at him. He looks past wondering whom I wave to. He gives me a closer look and he is smiling widely. Saeed has recognised me. Coincidence wasn't coincident enough to put us on seats next to each other again. But when Medinah arrived, I sat next to him to hear his stories. His wife passed a phone from front. There was no phone call; it contained photos from their vacation. She remembered me too, even though we never spoke. I'm still wondering if the other lady too is his wife. I don't mean to be rude to such a lovely family. I don't ask.

The mind returns back. It's too tired from the time travel. I run through all the memories I could store from the time travel and I begin to wonder. Here I am, unwilling to go out and meet new and interesting people. And there I was, in those memories, eager to mingle and discover. Which of the two is real?

Between two cities

2012-10-05T00:13:00.003+05:30

I'm unhappy. I can't figure out the reason behind the sadness. It isn't depressing, but it doesn't allow me to be happy. I'm supposed to go and meet some friends. I look at myself in the mirror. I feel fat. My hair doesn't seem right. I don't like the dress I'm wearing. The shoes are dirty. They aren't even shoes. They are slippers that I call floaters. I think they stink. I can hear people complaining about their lives. All the time. I'm in my room. The TV is switched on. A webpage is open on my laptop. A book lies in my bed. I'm sitting listless, ignorant of them all. I can hear a question being asked. It pricks me. I ignore it. I don't react. The questioner is gone. The question reappears. My conscience is repeating it. The pricks go deeper. Face grimaces into a disgust; at myself. The pricks are gnawing in my mind. I think of the question. I know the answer. I don't like the answer. It goes deeper. The pricks are like nails in my heart. Something wants to come out. The answer, maybe. But it stops like a lump in the throat. In the distance a song starts playing. I can't recognise it. I concentrate on the words. Is that Hindi? It gets louder. No, just some beats of Hindi music. Still louder. I've heard this on TV. It gets louder. No, not on TV, somewhere else. Still louder. On a mobile phone? Louder. Whose phone? Louder. And then it strikes.
I open my eyes from the dream and look straight. This isn't my room. This isn't my home. This isn't Chennai. This isn't even India. I turn around in the bed. The alarm has stopped ringing. My friend has woken up. The Australian on the bed above moves as the bunk bed creaks. The Japanese on the left smiles. He's saying "Good Morning." It sinks in. Not slowly, but like a jolt. The mind is suddenly transported across 6000 kilometres. I boarded a flight some hours back. I'm in the dormitory of Sultan Hostel. This is Sultanahmet. This is Istanbul. I'm in Turkey.

"Turkey? Why Turkey?"
I asked that to a friend, four years ago, when she said she'd been to Turkey. I was ignorant. Turkey was like a dot on the map. I could point it on the map but knew nothing else about it. A friend on Twitter asked if anybody would like to join him for a backpacking trip across Turkey. An unknown country, unknown companions, new challenges, no one to help me. I wanted to experience that. I said Yes. I told my parents and dad asked, "Turkey? Why Turkey? And why for 14 days?" I didn't have an answer. So I started reading about it. There was the historic city of Istanbul. I remembered Constantinople from History books. It's now home to 20 million people. The dot on the map grew bigger. We were going to visit Cappadocia, Kayseri, Konya, Antalya, Fethiye and Pamukkale. We didn't have time for Black Sea, Bodrum, Troy, Mount Ararat or Ephesus. I read about them. It would take long bus journeys between towns. The dot on the map grew wider in area. I began reading Orhan Pamuk's My Name is Red and the rich cultural history of Turkey was being narrated to me. I remembered Age of Empires. There were Greeks in Turkey, there were Romans and then there were the magnificent artists in an erstwhile glorious Islamic nation. The dot on the map grew bigger; not in space, but in Time. I started learning Turkish. Saw a few movies. The country captured my imagination. The dot on the map was not a dot anymore. It was a black hole that was pulling me towards it. I went to the check-in counter of Saudi Airlines in Mumbai. The attendant saw my ticket and asked, "Turkey? Why Turkey?"

"Merhaba!"
That greeting accompanied by an eye-shining wide smile is how I remember most Turks. I had to fake my smile to match their happiness. There were also the other pleasantries in Turkish that I'd memorised which needed that emotion. I needed a big heart. And Istanbul is big. It has big mosques. Their domes are huge. The minarets are tall. The Blue Mosque, the Hagia Sophia and the numerous other mosques that pop out in the landscape. You stand next to them in awe of their size. They engulf you. There are magnificent palaces -- Topkapı & Dolmabahçe. History is reeking out of its strong walls, narrating stories of rulers, their love for art, for jewels, for food, for weapons, for women, for power and for their people. Writers that have fallen in love with this city have called it the centre of the world for centuries. It is the link to the vast and glorious history of the East, of Asia, to the dominance and wealth of the modern West, of Europe. You stand in the middle of all this and get amazed at how such stark cultures blend almost seamlessly right here. But there are differences, if you dig deep enough. The blending has been going on for centuries; it's still going on. And it's given the city a unique character that no other city in the world could boast of.

I can't stop thinking of Istanbul. Of the calmness I felt inside Hagia Sophia as I kept taking pictures of its grandeur. To see how a huge structure could be a Basilica and then a Mosque and still hold its identity. Of the intricate, symmetrical, colourful artistry in the walls and domes of Topkapı Palace. Of the opulence of Dolmabahçe Palace. Of the walks on the Galata Bridge. Of seeing a football crazy city where the fans of Galatasaray and Fenerbahçe have been warring with each other for more than a hundred years. Of the cruise to Princes Islands and the cycling we did in Büyükada. Of all the smells emanating from the 300-year old Spice Market. Of the cloudless, spotless blue sky. Of the Sama we attended, the music resonating off the walls of the Sirkeci railway station as the dervishes whirled in devotion. Of the long walks inside the half century old Grand Bazaar, getting lost in similar sounding lanes and similar looking shops. Of all the beautiful girls that walked on the stone paved streets. Of Turkish Delight and the joy of discovering Haci Bekır's shop in Eminönü. Of the desserts we ate. Of the numerous flavours of Turkish tea we drank. Of all the flags that waved from streets and balconies. Of all the smiles that adorned people's faces when they greeted us. Of the gladness in their hearts when they learnt we were from Hindistan. At the end of 14 days, the fake smile on my face was as genuine as theirs. And it wouldn't leave my face. I was as glad as they were. I can hear them calling out. I tell them Görüşürüz, that I'll see them later. The call is getting louder. It isn't their voice. They are just smiling in the distance. They're getting farther away. The call is louder. The word is familiar. I don't want to turn around to see where the sound comes from. It's louder. It's my name. Someone is calling my name and it's getting louder and Istanbul is getting farther away.

I wake up in my bed. My mother tells me I'm late for work. I look at the wall and the ceiling. I'm in my bed. This is my room. My shirt hangs there. The one I wore when I flew back. My mind has been transported back. But not my heart.

I flew away for a while

2012-09-15T22:46:00.000+05:30

I went with a heavy mind. I went with a heavy body. When I came back both were lighter. My skin wasn't. I was in a dark mood when I left. I went 2,000 metres high on a cliff. I jumped off it. The beautiful, pristine blue of the Mediterranean right below me. Hot air filled up a balloon that lifted my spirits in Göreme. Both soared the skies watching a unique landscape form beneath them. I went underground; into a cistern. Into an underground city; to seek refuge from the searing heat above. I went on a cruise in the Mediterranean. I dipped my feet into the Aegean Sea. A boat took me to an island meant for Princes. I cycled through its streets. I drove a scooter on the wrong side of the road for my country. And I walked. I walked the paved streets of a city that encompasses two continents. I walked through desolate valleys carved out by lava from volcanoes. I walked through historic towns that had a rich history -- 7000 years of history. I walked on travertines. I walked on roads which, years ago, people from my land used for trade. I walked through palaces, mosques, dilapidated churches and monasteries. I walked through 500 year old bazaars. I walked in shoes a size shorter than my legs. I made a huge dent in my savings. So it flows. I tried to learn a new language in 30 days. I failed to form a single sentence in it.

"I'm from Hindistan", I tell them and their eyes light up. That's how India is known in Turkey; and the Turkish love this country. I don't know why. I know it isn't to do with Bollywood. Something to do with history. Both countries seem to share a long and similar history. I made history too; a personal one. Left the shores of my country for the first time. I went to Türkiye. For 14 days. I've told you what I did there. I've told it in brief so you wouldn't have to read long stories and experiences of places I saw. Those stories will be written. I will write them not because I want to share it with you. I will write them because I want to share it with my future self. I'll let you read them too. I'll even share some photographs for you to associate with them. For now, sonra görüşürüz.

Sometimes I think

2012-05-30T13:17:00.000+05:30

Sometimes I think.
Of Governance; citizens.
Of Righteousness; self-righteousness.
Of Aspirations; inordinateness.
Of Cynicism; hopelessness.
Of Expectations; pointlessness.

Of Intolerance; ignorance.
Of Never ending demands; rights.

Of Patience and the lack of it.
Of Energy expended; frivolousness.
Of Ostentations. Of Austerity.
Of Pretentions.
Of Life away from all of these.
Of Enjoying; being; belonging; believing.

Sometimes I think.
That time is now.
And it disappoints me.

Photography: War and Truce

2012-04-13T18:28:00.002+05:30

It isn't often that I am asked about my photography gear. No one has asked me about it now either. But since this is my blog and I can share whatever irrelevant information I please, I share with you my gear. Yes. I've finally found a place to store all of my photography gear, neatly packed in its original containers, ready to gather dust and grime as I choose to ignore them more often than earlier.
A keen eye would spot Canon splashed all over the image. I don't work for Canon and neither does Canon pay me to market their products. (On the contrary, I've spent more money on Canon than on any other brand. So, if you're working for Canon and are willing to pay me for marketing your product, I'm dying to hear from you.)

The rest of my pointless discourse in this post isn't exactly about photography, but more about discussions, arguments, mud-slinging and riots ensuing among the online community that includes everyone from newbie photographers, amateurs, hobbyists, professionals and I-have-an-opinion-about-everything-outside-of-my-knowledge. The problems are caused by two factors. Vast improvements in digital technologies to improve photographic equipment and the ease with which the photographs can be shared. These two factors have reduced the chasm that was evident in the work of a new entrant with that of a professional in the field. Add to this the attitude on either side and that line-of-separation becomes a war zone.

This chart about 'Stages of a photographer' is a good start to deal with the problems arising out of the debates mentioned earlier. (I found the chart on Reddit and am not aware of its source. I'll gladly quote the original source, if I'm pointed to it)

Personally, I feel I'm in the 'Dammit, I suck' phase. I'm experimenting with a few techniques to ensure that the knowledge curve continues upwards. I've lived being some of the characters mentioned before in the period of 'Just started' to now and I've had the good luck of being associated with a few professionals who are on the right side of the graph, from whom I've learnt a lot. I don't wish them Death, though.

I'll be attempting to call truce between the warring factions by taking up the contentious issues one at a time. I'll start from the left and move to the right of that chart.

Stage I: The Newbie and the Learner:
The joy and excitement brought by the purchase of the first camera cannot be matched by the excitement by any subsequent purchase of any other photography gear. The first one is always special. When you buy that first camera, you are opening yourself to possibilities that seem limitless. When you buy specific lenses or cameras from thereon, you know the limits of that gear. You have read enough about it before investing in them. How that initial excitement is handled by different people is different for each of them. We'll call them Amateurs. As the chart suggests, for the Amateur, the joy from instantly seeing how easy it is to capture decent photographs makes you feel your photography skill level is at 90%.
There are those that are happy about this aspect and continue investing time on improving their skills quietly. We'll call them Learners. And then there are those that feel they've mastered everything there is to know about photography right away. We'll call them Newbies. The difference between the Learner and the Newbie becomes clearer when they interact with the Professionals. The Learner accepts appreciation and criticism with equal humility. The Newbie retorts vehemently to the criticism. He will discount the Professional's skills and reduce it to his gear and photo editing skills. The Professional, irritated and angered, takes out his ire on all Amateurs. While the Newbie and Professional continue with their barbs, the Learner, painted with same brush as Newbie, is left demotivated.
The disdain towards the Newbies is seen among those outside the photography circle too. There was a humorous take on them by Sarcasan - You and your DSLR. It led to further wars in the comments section, which have been deleted since. The same mistake of painting the Newbie and Learner as one can be seen in the post. The problem with that generalisation is that a lot of good people are being dissuaded from experimenting with their interests and taking up this field as a hobby. The Professionals and rest would do well if they identified this distinction and focussed their attacks. The Newbies, on the other hand, would do well if they spent more time reading about Photography. The Learners are already doing it.

Stage II: The Inquisitive
   I used to go to photowalks and shoot at a speed of 100 photographs an hour. Most were repetitive. By the law of averages, some of them would have to be good. The problem began afterwards. How to sort out 400 images from a day? Which of the duplicates to delete? Which photos can be saved by editing? Which photos can be shared? The sheer madness of clicking too many photographs soon comes to a point of frustration. That is the time when the dials on the camera shift from Auto to Manual. That is when photos are deleted immediately after being clicked. That is when more time is spent on framing a photograph, adjusting the exposure and learning the tricks of the trade. The questions then turn to, "How can I get a good photograph in just one click?"
  It is an important question. It leads you to learn things about your camera. You find it a fascinating gadget that can do so much more than just point and shoot. You learn about the aperture; how it gives you background blurs; how it shows up bokehs. You venture into darker areas and learn about the shutter speed; how it causes shakes, if it is too slow; you groan and think of buying a tripod. You learn about the ISO; how it puts grains in your dark images when it is too high a number. You've been exposed to Exposure. Soon, you are adept at setting the right parameters before taking a photograph.
The number of photographs for post processing have not reduced yet. You are too lazy to fix them. You learn about white balance, focussing techniques, limitations of your equipment. And the desire to buy more equipment has just been induced. As seen in the chart, the highest spike in knowledge is in this phase. Most photographers at the Inquisitive stage are never seen in the battles between photographers. They are too engrossed in learning.

Stage III: The Professional
While the dictionary definition would put anyone who earns money through photography as a professional, I will extend it to all those on the right side of the chart. Even if some of them don't make a living out of it, if put in a position of that of a professional, they would do a good job of it. They have enough knowledge, if not experience, of it.
Professionals have been writing extensively on various forums how they are irritated every time someone asks them, "What camera? What lens? Photoshopped?" on seeing a good photograph. There are the humble Professionals who answer the questions and move on. The rest don't stop there. Fantastic analogies to other professions have been made and similar questions demanded out of them. "Are chefs asked what utensils they use? Are craftsmen asked what tools they used? Are musicians asked what instruments they used?" While it is clear that the frustration is originated from the dismissive attitude of the Newbie, the Professional's attitude is more attuned to demanding respect. His (or her) ego has been bruised by the indirect implication that a photograph is good only because of the equipment used. Or the tools used to edit the photograph. The Newbie will tell you that. But you can see on the chart where his knowledge is.
Ironically, the question isn't wrong. The Professionals invest a huge amount of money on their equipment. They want to see how that lens will work in different conditions; what its limitations are. They want to know what additional features the newly released camera body will provide. Despite taking extreme care, they know some really good photos might turn out bad. They have to know how to fix them in the post processing. There is no second take. They want to know it all, so that they make an informed decision before purchasing anything. So what are the questions a Professional asks another Professional? "What camera do you use? What lenses do you have?" I read a quote of a famous artist who said, "When art critics meet, they talk about form, composition, lines, texture and dexterity. When artists meet, they just ask where they can get the paints for cheap."
As the chart shows, the Professionals are where they are because they have invested a lot of time to hone their skills. As an Amateur, on every Flickr stream of a Professional that I used to come across, I used to see their oldest images. They were just as good (or bad) as mine were. To see how they moved from ordinary to fabulous was highly encouraging.
While it is understandable to sound off the Newbie for his attitude by confonting him, they have to realise that while they are doing that, they are also discouraging a huge set of people that are looking upto them for inspiration.

The Truce
   Exposure metering, multiple automatic focus points, face detection, a whole range of filters for automatically processing photographs in the camera are some of those technologies that keep improving, making the science behind photography so complex, that it becomes very easy for anyone to take a good photograph and share it with a wide audience. It is a wonderful opportunity. Think not in disdain of just-about-everyone selling art. Think of the ease with which every event can be captured easily. You don't have to see blurred images from wrong focus, shakes, blown out overexposed images or underexposed images from events where a Professional couldn't be hired. You no longer have to hear your friends/relatives say, "It hasn't come out well in the photo but ..." when they are showing you photos of their vacation. Photography can become a basic talent everyone possesses and you'll never have to see bad images.
The space for Professionals too will not get breached. People understand the value of a good service and product when they see one. They can easily discern the extraordinary from the usual. If they can't, they'll learn it. And when they appreciate it, they will willingly pay for it.
I think it's time to call for a truce. Time for Newbies to respect the Professionals and put efforts in learning the technology instead. Time for Professionals to ignore gibes and continue to learn newer techniques to separate themselves from others. Technology progresses only when there is a demand to breach barriers. Else it stagnates. This is where the Professionals are important to the industry.

To end this already long post, I share a tweet I had written some time back, trying to encapsulate this idea.

No such thing as 'too many photographers' or 'too many writers'. Everyone has a story to tell. And we're willing to hear the better ones.
— Sudhamshu Hebbar (@sudhamshu) February 25, 2012

Balram talks of Primes

2012-02-07T16:38:00.000+05:30

Balram was relaxing on his long chair in the balcony, poring over the newspaper and a cup of hot coffee by his side. It was his favourite way to pass a Sunday morning. He was engrossed in the political affairs section when the doorbell rang. With a tinge of irritation, he ignored it. After a minute, the bell rang again. This time it was a long one. There was irritation on the other side of the door too. Balram put aside his newspaper, got up from his chair, stretched his back and ambled towards the door. There was a third restless ring. He opened the door and saw an irritated Suyodhana staring at him.
"What took you so long? I've been standing here for the last 10 minutes!" he said as he walked past him and entered the house.
"Yes. You can come in." said Balram closing the door.
"I think you're becoming deaf. If you hadn't opened the door now, I swear I would have banged on the door."
"Did it occur to you, that it was quite possible, that I wouldn't be at home? It's a Sunday and people have weekend plans."
"You want me to think that, don't you? You have a problem with me barging in like this?"
"Now I don't have a choice, do I?"
"Yeah. You don't. Is that coffee you're drinking? Can I have it?"
"No. I'll make another cup of coffee for you."
"Thank you. Make it a bit strong. And don't be stingy with sugar."
"I see. So what makes you so impatient today?" asked Balram as he went into his kitchen.
"Ah! Don't ask!" said Suyodhana following him.
"I already did. And I have a feeling you want to talk about something."
"Rishi was at home this morning. The kid wanted me to teach him mathematics. GCD, LCM and what not! I just spent more than an hour trying to put some sense into that boy. But the boy! Oh boy! Nothing gets into his head! It's such a simple thing -- Greatest Common Divisor, Least Common Multiple. It's not like only the greatest can understand it. He doesn't put the least effort in understanding it either. Keeps confusing between the two. And if I scold him, he talks back! Oh the boy has some guts, I tell you! He asks me what use it is to learn such stuff! Can you imagine how difficult it is to deal with such kids?!" said the exasperated Suyodhana.
"I can only imagine." said Balram with a hint of a smirk passing his face. "So were you successful in teaching him?"
"I was able to help him solve his homework. But that boy is dumb. He'll forget it before his exams."
"So you weren't successful?"
"Bah! Who cares!"
"Why did you agree to teaching him mathematics? That too so early on a Sunday? It's quite strange."
said Balram, as he handed the strong coffee with extra sugar to Suyodhana. They started walking back towards the balcony.
"His mom asked my mom. I couldn't refuse."
"Interesting."
"Why is that?"
"Doesn't Rishi have an elder sister? She is your age isn't she?"
Suyodhana blushed for a second before changing his expression, "Oh! How sly of you! You think I'd do anything like that just to get in the good books of his sister?!"
"Wouldn't you?"
"Would you?"
"This is about you, not me." said Balram looking at Suyodhana with a raised eyebrow and a mocking smile. Suyodhana kept silent and sipped the coffee. "So, were you able to tell Rishi about the practical uses of GCD & LCM?" he asked.
"I told him some things I got off the Internet."
"What are they?"
"Oh, you don't know either? You want me to teach them to you too?!"
"Yes. Please do."
"OK! I give up. I don't want to make a fool of myself in front of you. I seriously can't understand the real uses of these things. These and even Prime Numbers. God! Why do people make so much noise out of it, is beyond me!"
"I think a story needs to be created to make this interesting. A hypothetical situation."
"I'm all ears." said Suyodhana, getting comfortable and leaning back in his chair. "Why else do you think I'm here?!"
"Alright. Do you see Giridhar leaving his home there? He has taken money from some Chaturvedi and hasn't repaid him. Chaturvedi doesn't know where Giridhar lives, but they go to work from the same bus stop. Now here is the hypothetical problem.
1. Chaturvedi (C) and Giridhar (G) leave their home only once a day. We'll assume it's the same time of day too.
2. If C meets G, G has to pay whatever money he has. Or he runs the chance of being humiliated in front of others; or worse being beaten up.
3. Both can't stay at home for very long. G works as a researcher who does most of his work from home and doesn't have to go to office regularly. C is a writer who goes out occassionally to meet people.

"Now, if C & G met daily, G would have to pay every day and he wouldn't save anything for himself. So, he decides to go out once in 2 days. C realises he meets G on alternate days & he changes his schedule too. G changes his schedule to 3 days now. When will C & G meet now?"
"Umm. Every 6th day? Ah. I see that's the LCM of 2 and 3!" said Suyodhana.
"Yes. Now, G doesn't have enough money to give every 6th day either and he has to change his plans. If he goes out every 4 days, he'll run in to C every time he went out. Same goes with every 6 days and so on. You understand why it is so?"
"Because 2 is a prime and those numbers are its multiples?"
"Precisely. So our researcher G decides to go out only on prime number intervals. C keeps altering his schedule too to grab hold of G. If G came out every 7 days & C came out every 5 days, G gets 35 days to collect sufficient money for the month. G tries to increase his gaps and not finding him often, C reduces his gap. G can't be at home for long periods; he has to go out to get work and money. C can reduce his gap to every day, but he gets frustrated at not finding G often. The question that arises is 'What is the optimal gap for each of them?'"
"I get it! C has to choose a small prime number - a greatest common divisor. While G has to choose a reasonably high prime number so that their least common multiple is big enough for him to have enough money for him." said Suyodhana with a tinge of delight in his voice.
"Yes. That's correct." said Balram who was glad that Suyodhana understood the problem.
"Wow! That's cool!"
"The problem is a type of Predator-Prey model. And this particular solution is called Predator Satiation. It is often seen among cicadas. They appear once in 11 or 13 years in large numbers. It's a type of evolutionary adaptation process that allows them to survive assaults from their predators. There are many other uses of Prime numbers, but very few like these can be spotted in nature. You can see uses of Primes in encryption algorithms like RSA. There are many other applications of primes too, but I'd rather have you discover them."
"No, no. That's ok. This is sufficient. Now, if only I could make that kid understand all of this!"
"Or, from what I have gathered, more importantly, you should attempt to tell him that with his sister around."

8 years have passed

2012-01-24T00:48:00.000+05:30

January 24, 2012. It is 8 years since I moved to Chennai. It doesn't seem like it was too long ago. I was a young, 21-year old, bursting with energy, brimming with ideas and ready to take on the World. I look at that person and the 8 years do seem to belong to a different decade. My internal clock has a conflict. Some time back, I wrote these lines:

Smells bring back memories. I just smelled few years in the past. We had just moved to Chennai. Furniture from Mumbai lay scattered in my bedroom. Misplaced remnants of an earlier life transported across cities. They looked so different now. A medicine bottle broke and the room reeked of it. The stench lingered for a few weeks. I would walk into the room and it would be there. I used to crinkle my nose and think, "This is how it is going to be from here on. Life will stink."

That pessimist still lies within me. But I have consciously attempted to become more open minded while forming opinions. I will not try to talk about my life in this city. I've been doing that for 8 years on this blog. This post will be about the city. The lines I wrote earlier might throw poor light on Chennai, but I know better now. A city cannot be defined by pre-conceived notions. Your life in it cannot be judged by those biases you still carry from your earlier life. You are too insignificant to change the city the way you like it. It is a bustling organism representative of the millions that breathe life into it every day. You are just a tiny cell.

A friend of mine was lamenting about missing Mumbai after he shifted to Bangalore. I used to do that. Looking back has helped me realise where I was wrong. Where most people go wrong when they begin to compare cities. The weather, the history, the money, the power, the night life, the gardens and the rest are only some facets that attract or repel each person's sensitivity. A new city is like a new friend. He is different from your other friends. He has some peculiarities. He has different views, different ideas and a whole new perspective your other friends could never reveal your mind towards. You are cautious with your friendship at first. But then you begin to find it interesting. The horizons have broadened. Your mind is more receptive to newer ideas.
Why did you like your earlier friends? You knew them very well, like your old city. Each time you took a guest for a tour, you had some story to say about every corner in that city. It is all about the stories. My stories from my school, your stories from your college, your parents' stories from all the places they have relatives, the relatives' story about how the city used to be in their grandparents' time, your friends' stories about favourite hangouts, her stories and histories. Your old city was like a book full of stories and the new book is blank. It isn't daunting. It is a story that is waiting to be told.

2011 in Retrospect

2011-12-28T00:43:00.002+05:30

The year ends. It is the time for people to put up lists and for more people to read those lists and disagree with what is put on them. I decide to put a list of my own. List all the good things that happened to me in the year 2011. I think hard. But I am listless. That is how I have been all year -- pessimistic. I read some research paper that said that our brains are possibly wired for optimism. In situations where outcomes of events can't be guessed logically, the mind always imagines that something positive will happen. Strangely, that optimism shows up only when I am playing Texas Hold 'Em Poker on Facebook.

When I decided to write this post, I couldn't recollect any good things to write about. That's how much I like to be miserable. Joy is a fleeting moment that needs to be compressed into a 140-character tweet and forgotten. That's how I dilute that emotion. But I decided to request the misery to placate its place for an hour so I could look at the good things that 2011 had to offer.

Fantastic! Thank you very much! This is the upbeat side of me taking over. Let's not waste time and get this list going, shall we?!

Good Books: Salman Rushdie's "Midnight's Children" was read. Awe inspiring. Made me realise how much knowledge, intelligence and immense patience is required to write a novel that can grip a reader. I'll do that some day; next year; or the one after that perhaps. That was followed by the unbelievably hilarious "Hitchiker's Guide To The Galaxy". Suddenly, Life, Universe & Everything were flung into sunshine from the edge of space. All thanks to the consumption of the Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster at the Restaurant at the End of the Galaxy. Life was too serious, it made me realise, to take it more seriously. The seriousness was amplified by finally getting around to read "2001: A Space Odyssey". In short, I'm buying books. Lots of books. I hope to read them soon.

New Hairstyle: I can't recollect what went through my head when I decided to go bald in the Summer. Oh yes, I remember now. It was a razor. The sense of lightness that it left behind has made me dislike growing hair longer than a couple of inches.

Travel & Photography: A wide angle lens was purchased. Frankly, I haven't taken a liking to the lens so far, which presents a bit of distorted perspective of things. But a different perspective always presents a new viewpoint. I didn't travel much. A bit of a disastrous trip to Varanasi in the height of summer that almost gave me a sunstroke makes it to the northernmost point of the country I've ever been to. Chidambaram and Auroville gave good photographs and Bangalore provided much entertainment. An external flash was purchased but hardly put to use. I've blown away a lot of money this year and none of it went in to the Europe trip I'd announced on my blog.

Music: I decided to deviate from the genre of music that I kept listening to over and over again. I've been led to some good musicians and inspiring music in the bargain. Must thank my friend, @jnarin, for providing so many recommendations. I've found respect for Steven Wilson for the enormous work he's put in in numerous bands including Porcupine Tree. Opeth's album, Damnation, evoked something very deep; deep enough for me to cherish that album for years to come. Then there was the Metallica concert. I was hesitant to attend it but bought tickets, never the less. The fiasco at Gurgaon, the maddening crowds at Bangalore, the rain, the jostling for space and the dirt made me question my decision. And then Metallica took over from there; they took over me. I didn't think I had it in me to attend such a high energy concert and enjoy it like the 20 year old version of me would have done. After all, it was his dream that I was living. But he made an appearance. I was surprised to see the world through his heart again. He knew the words of the songs that were played. He jumped; he howled; he punched his fists and went mad. It felt like he had been confined in a dungeon against his wishes and asked to behave all these years and that moment was his moment of freedom. He exploded. What was left behind for me was pain. Pain in every part, every inch of my body. Also, soiled pants and footwear.

Rahul Dravid: I saw a few games of IPL at the stadium this year. Also saw my first cricket match at a World Cup. The Indian team won the World Cup and I enjoyed it. But none of it could match the new found respect I found for this man, Rahul Dravid. Indian team suffered a humiliating 4-0 defeat in England and yet Dravid stood out like a knight among pawns. He certainly battled like one. The greatest victory is not to defeat your opponent, but to win him over. And he won the hearts of the Englishmen. That at a time when his career was said to be over. That was followed by the speech he made at the Bradman Oration. I never knew that the man possessed such a keen insight into the functioning of the game. In a game dominated by commentators making cliched observations, Rahul Dravid's words whipped up reality which seemed forgotten in the pile of rubbish that was doled out by self professed experts of the game. He shared anecdotes that gripped you; some made you smile. And then he went on to talk about his passion for the game. He started talking of how sometimes he'd stand in the slips or at the non-striker's end and get into this zone of solitude. The crowd, their expectations, the money, the fame, the immense pressure and everything else would die out and he'd just stand there enjoying the moment just because he was able to play the game he loved. Such a description of a meditative trance put goosebumps all over my skin. I don't think any other cricketer could elicit such a reaction. Dravid is the paragon when it comes to justifying the adage that hardwork pays. He has immense patience and a relentless urge to achieve perfection. Put him against odds and he will wear his knight's armour and prepare for a long, arduous battle. He relishes such situations. I now give him the same respect I have for Arsene Wenger.

Football: Now that Arsene Wenger has been mentioned, the talk has to drift to my favourite sport -- Football -- and my favourite team -- Arsenal. The summer was heart breaking. Cesc Fabregas left Arsenal for Barcelona. I could have cried every time a rumour was raised of his departure. By the time, the rumour became reality I had resigned. A new hero was to be found. And the new hero was found. There can be only one person, mention of whose name lifts my heart. They call him Van The Man; they call him Captain Vantastic; he is all of that and more. He is Robin Van Persie! Fabregas left a void behind that got deepened by poor games by the team when the season started. Van Persie filled that void. He has struck staggering form this year. 34 goals in a calendar year. That's as high as Arsenal legend Thierry Henry. He takes up the responsibility of a leader with such ease and excels at it. Some of the goals he's scored have been jaw dropping and they are good enough to wipe off all the frustration that comes from jibes that are thrown at Arsenal supporters. This year shall be remembered for Robin Van Persie.

That wraps up a really long post. Before I let the miserable side of me take over, I wish you all a Happy 2012.

2011 was atrocious; 2012 will be the same. I'll explain why... *log off*

Blogpost No. 300

2011-12-13T00:30:00.000+05:30

It has been a long, exhaustive, overdue and an utterly boring wait to get here. But we are here. Or at least I am here and by some means I've coaxed you to join me. We are celebrating a milestone. This is post no. 300. And this is not Sparta.
As is the case with most such milestones, it makes me look back. This time I looked back to find out when I had written post no. 200 and post no. 100. Searching for them made me realise how little I've been sharing in the last 4 years. Post no. 100 - A century of pakofying makes me cringe a bit at the way I have written it. I was clearly attempting to please a certain set of audience. Not to mention how I used it as an opportunity to plug so many posts. Post no. 200 - #200: The path of least resistance was reasonably better. I can see how I had moved away from playing to the gallery and entered into a stage where I lived within my own trying to understand myself. I seem to like that change of direction. It made me move into areas of fascinating unknowns. Marveling at them has been quite delightful. Good enough to revisit those writings once in a while. I read those posts and realise how I used to be buzzing with ideas in my head.

And now I am faced with doing a certain justice to this post. When the 40-year old Sudhamshu attempts to write the 400th post, I need to ensure that he comes to the conclusion that I was getting better at doing this. So much pressure to please these old people. (Sorry boss!)

This post is going to be about Honesty; honesty in writing; honesty in thoughts. That is where the drift seems to be going from older posts to the newer ones. I used to attempt to please. I possibly succeeded at that time. It comes at an expense. That of exaggerations and hyped up expectations. Some thoughts weren't even mine to begin with. I entertained them because I was passionate back then and those ideas seemed to fire me up from within. I loved that feeling. Writing about it seemed to give me a purpose. Hindsight shows me the futility of it. Contradictions in your own thoughts have a way of avoiding each other, for a while. Eventually, when there is no one else left to fool or justify, you have to face them. One of the contradicting ideas has to be discarded. It is not easy to admit your own mistakes. Specially when you know that nobody will be praising you for doing so. This introspection comes at a cost. It tends to kill the passion; that catalyst which ignited the spark into an idea, without worrying about the contradictions.
And that is how I have begun moving towards neutrality. It is a difficult process that cannot live with an ego and demands modesty and humility. The fiery passion has no place in neutrality. Only thing that drives you further is an honest attempt in unearthing what is truthful. Or at least something that doesn't have a friction with your conscience. It is a process where you tend to hear all sides of a subject without taking sides. It is a process where facts matter more than emotions. It is an arduous process demanding patience. It is an excruciatingly boring process. What it eventually achieves is a strong opinion that cannot be shaken.

That sets the tone of things to come. What is a milestone without a little thanksgiving, eh? There's just one person that comes to mind when I ask, "Who on Earth would be jobless enough to read each and every one of my blog posts?" and the answer is -- Nandan Hodavdekar. I always appreciate the encouragement he gives and no blogpost is complete without his comment. He sets high standards for the literature he reads and I feel humbled to have a dedicated reader in him. Thank you, Nandan. I hope you're still around here when the 40-year old Sudhamshu continues to spread the Pakau stuff.

Giving up a favourite project

2011-11-19T13:41:00.003+05:30

I don't expect the title to generate much surprise. That's how things have been at my end, of late -- without surprise. National Novel Writing Month, or NaNoWriMo as it is popularly called, is a project that I take up annually to test some of my interests and experiment with writing styles. In the past two years, the project has been exceptional in its outcome. It made me learn so many things about myself, the quest for creative bursts, mysterious energies and the patience that such disciplined a project demands. I was rooting for a hat trick, of sorts, this year. 3 novels in 3 years. Sounds so fantastic, doesn't it? But I'm giving up my attempt this year.

The Process
Before I describe my disappointments, it would be worthwhile to explain why I seek to achieve such grandiose expectations. I turn back the time to Oct 30, 2009 when I first heard of this competition and I look at a naive blogger who wishes to test his discipline and see if he can hold a story long enough -- for 50,000 words. Back then, I had no idea what my novel would be about. But on Nov. 30, as the clock struck 11:55 p.m, the challenge was complete. I was satisfied. Oct 25, 2010 was quite similar. That is when the idea to write the second novel struck. I was charged up to write. I wanted to test various writing styles. On Nov. 28, 2010, two days before the deadline, that wish was complete. I was elated. When I look back, I am quite surprised to see how much I have changed in just a matter of years.

If you ask me, what happened between those two dates every year, I wouldn't have much to say. It is The Process, the continuous burst of energy, the relentless urge to carry forward the story; to make the characters alive; to make it even more interesting; before it reaches its conclusion. The process puts you in a mysterious zone where you feel detached, suspended from reality and completely free. You can feel the energy flowing from your head through to your hands as the words keep flowing out. You have a sub-plot in mind, but the story suddenly takes interesting twists on its own, another sub plot is born. You are typing faster, but you still can't keep up with your mind's pace. The energy slowly dissipates as the story gets boring and you look at the clock -- hours have passed. There would be Music playing. But it is only a catalyst. Catalyst to The Process where the thread of the story itself is such a voracious feeder on information, that it keeps growing and growing, and keeps demanding more from you. The days are spent hunting for such information. When the night arrives, it's like the story wrote itself out. The Process gives you such a high on the achievement, that it becomes addictive. Which is why I seek it year after year.

What is not working?
I can find excuses. They are always aplenty.
My laptop died on me on the 1st of November: It was dying for almost 6 months. I bought a new one on November 2.
I didn't have a strong skeleton of a plot to begin with: But the process ensures that the story writes itself out.
I didn't read Dostoevsky: I'd read Crime & Punishment in October, 2009, Brothers Karamazov in October, 2010. Hugely inspiring. But I read Midnight's Children by Salman Rushdie in early 2011.
I had lots of disjointed information: The wider the perspective, the better.
I didn't have enough motivation, enthusiasm or inspiration: Oct 30, 2011, I fulfilled another teenage dream -- that of attending a Metallica concert. It was an electrifying night. It was an explosion of pent up energy lying dormant for years. It was elevating. It was liberating. The second novel is my inspiration. It was very special in so many ways. Now it lies gathering electronic dust in my old laptop.
What really isn't working is the buzz in my head. That buzz, the only clue to your brain being alive, was not lively enough to get into the zone; to begin The Process. I tried it every night. I tried different songs. There were signs of that mysterious energy showing up. I got to 5,000 words. I could get no further. I am listless now. I give up on the project. There will be no hat-trick.

What now?
I wish someone would ask me that. Since no one is bothering to do that, I ask it to myself. I will keep experimenting with writing. I might not have an audience to read, but I'll convince myself I don't need one. NaNoWriMo novels are considered as a 'fast-novel', one written in a hurry just to get something done. The outcome is more of a novella than a novel. My writing will never reach the standards set for something to be considered literature. That takes another leap in patience, skills, intelligence and a sustained appetite for story telling. Don't let your jaw drop that way, I'm not attempting that either. I'm going the more simplistic route. I'll be putting up stories every month on this blog. They could be chapters of a single story or they could just be short stories. The idea is to put myself through the rigour of writing month after month and dedicate myself to a project. If any of my previous claims to such dedications are to go by, this thought won't last until I click 'Publish Post'. But who is stopping me from dreaming?

Is this outrage over Lok Pal justified?

2011-08-19T23:35:00.002+05:30

Repressed emotions finding a source in impassioned speeches. Disgust accumulated from years of tolerance spilling out into the streets. The search for a leader who can voice your opinion culminating in the making of a national hero. It sounds very much like an Independence struggle or the upsurge seen in the Arab world to throw out dictatorial regimes. But these are also the equivalences being drawn with what is being played out in India right now. The question that begs to be asked is, "Who is the enemy?"

What is this movement about?
The outpouring of public support for Anna Hazare is a miniscule percentage of the national population, but the numbers are significant and are not restricted to a few cities. (I will use the popular term "civil society" to identify these supporters in this post) Anna Hazare and his team have made it clear that they are fighting with the Government to ensure that their version of Lok Pal Bill, called Jan Lok Pal Bill be passed without dilution. As is evident from the numerous surveys, TV interviews and opinions of people who are showing their support, the fight of the civil society isn't on these grounds. They are on the streets because the word Corruption forms the central theme of the Lok Pal Bill. They are of the view that they are protesting against Corruption. They also believe, or are led to believe that the Jan Lok Pal Bill is the panacea for all Corruption. So let's first admit that this movement isn't about Lok Pal or a debate on its efficacy, but against corruption.

What sort of corruption?
There is no denying that every person is disgusted with the corruption riddled in the society. Aren't we all part of this society ourselves? I don't think any of us are self reflective enough to consider ourselves corruptible. Corruption, for us, isn't something within, but always outside of us. It is always the other person that is more corrupt. This fight, though, isn't about the corruption of individuals who are doing their best to get their job done as quickly as possible, without hassles. The ire is against those that are making enormous money through illegal means in the Government.

India against Government corruption
Is there corruption in the private sector? Let's mention a few activities that might fall under corruption in Government. Taking bribes to get work done. Favouring a few organisations over other competitors. Creating a paucity of resources and then increasing prices of products. Giving power to a few, who quote strict rules to which they have to adhere and hence introduce red-tapism. Are none of these visible in the private sector? Undue favours are made on a daily basis. Contracts are provided to those who have contacts with influential people. Some are even bought. There are cartels in the industry that fix a price much above their fair prices. All of these illicit dealings happen on a daily basis, the bribes are hidden as expenditures and taxable income is adjusted against it. Yet, the private sector markets itself like a clean organisation and arrogantly looks down on the Government to label it corrupt. It is just as rotten within. But, the civil society isn't fighting against that corruption. They are indirectly part of it unknowingly or knowingly. Either way, these corporations don't run on public money like the Government. So let's get this clear too -- this is not a fight of "India against Corruption", it is "India against Government Corruption".

Second Independence struggle?
The inflammatory messages I get to read on Internet forums and in the news channels seems to suggest that this is India's second Independence struggle. The Indian flags being waved, the chants of "Jai Hind", "Vande Mataram" and "Bharat Mata ki Jai" seem to suggest so. The leaders of the movement also have been continuously mentioning 'India' in every other sentence to ignite this emotion. And suddenly, an opinion is formed by the followers that anyone who disagrees with their ideas is either anti-Indian or pro-corruption. The question that begs to be asked is what freedoms have been curbed that need to be won back?

Lokpal is a panacea
This is a highly disputable statement. The commentators against the effectivity of the Lok Pal are plenty. You can read this FAQ by Nitin Pai (@acorn) - Why Anna Hazare is wrong and Lok Pal a bad idea for starters. The idea against a Lok Pal is quite simple. When having a Police force doesn't completely remove crime from society, having a super police against corruption is not going to remove corruption. The problem of corruption is people wielding power at important decision making positions and the complexity of laws behind which they hide. A Lok Pal, at best, will only try to condemn those guilty, once proven guilty. It is a post-mortem exercise and if policing isn't a deterrent to crime, Lokpal can't be a deterrent to corruption. Which prompts the question, "What if the Lok Pal itself is corrupt?". It is after all, a powerful organisation given extraordinary powers, just like every other corrupt organisation run by the government. I do not buy the idea that since people from "civil society" will form Lok Pal and not government employees, it will not be corrupt. On the contrary, our MPs are elected. Lok Pal is selected.
But I will not be dismissive of the idea of a Lok Pal. Like any other experiment, it deserves to be tested. But can an experiment be given so much power? (Further reading: Primer to understanding Jan Lok Pal)

Have you used other options?
Truth be told, I have never filed an RTI application to extricate details of corrupt people. I have never used the judiciary to fight a case of corruption. I never knew of the Central Vigilance Committee (CVC) before and I always thought that the CBI was a stooge of the Government. I have to thank Anna Hazare and the hysteria he managed to create to make me inquisitive about these redressal mechanisms of the Government. I have to thank the "civil society" for making me read the provisions of a proposed Bill to be presented to the Government and to learn the intricate workings of the Government. I will not ask if the protestors have done so much of reading as I have. If people are old enough to vote for a Government, they are old enough to vent their anger on it and also be ready to face the consequences when they know that the dream that is being sold to them will not fructify.

Where is the real power of the public?
Which brings us to an important point in this debate. There was a similar agitation in April and I had a few arguments back then claiming that the true power of the public in a democracy lies in the Election. "Go in huge numbers and vote against the Government. It is the best way to humble them." I said. We saw that happening in the Tamil Nadu elections and the West Bengal elections. Almost a 80% voter turn out and the ruling party losing very embarrassingly. That is the true power of the masses. But our generation doesn't have the patience to wait for the next elections. Once we have aired our expectations, we expect results at the next moment. It isn't wrong to have demands. But are we doing our bit or just depending on someone else to fulfill our expectations?

Why I don't support Anna Hazare?
Anna Hazare is a good man, who has done good deeds all his life and no one can say he is corrupt. The same can be said of our Prime Minister Manmohan Singh too. But that doesn't imply that what the honest person stands for, is the only righteous stance. I admire Anna Hazare for his willingness to fight against corruption. I admire his power to generate such a huge following. But I do not think he can hold the Government to ransom by sitting on a fast unto death, thereby putting pressure to take a rash decision. If the Government's bill is weak, Jan Lok Pal Bill is equally draconian in its nature. If there is a mid-way to be found, it should be done democratically, by representatives whom people have voted for. If he can't influence the Government with his views in the hearing he was given, he can have a dialogue with the Opposition, or use the Press to create a debate on the weak points. To take up a rigid stance and threaten something suicidal if his ways are not heeded to, is rather unwarranted.

Goodbye Fabregas

2011-08-15T20:15:00.000+05:30

As the news finally became official, there were a plenty of sighs released. Some were of relief, others were of the culmination of a disappointment. Francesc Fabregas was unveiled as a Barcelona player to the public on 15th August 2011. It put an end to what is termed as one of the longest transfer saga in the history of professional football. And as is the case in any transfer dealing, there were those claiming victory and those that feel hard done by. As a faithful supporter of Arsenal Football Club for more than a decade, I should probably belong to the latter. I will not lie. I don't feel dejected at his exit or the supposed void he leaves behind. I do not feel cheated by those at Arsenal that dealt with the transfer. It could be because I had already made my peace with his eventual exit. It could also be because I no longer look at it like a financial transaction.

Rise of a new hero
When I begin to think of Fabregas, I try to recollect when he became so important to the club. And even though his antics in some games stand out, it was his maturity that stood out over the years. Arsenal was groping with the exit of legends like Thierry Henry, Patrick Vieira, Robert Pires and most of the squad that were part of the 'Invincibles'. No one knew where the next genius or a leader would emerge from. It was then that this kid, just entering his 20s was beginning to blossom. His precision in passing was being talked of aplenty, but he wasn't contributing in goals. And that is when that splendid night in San Siro happened. No English team had defeated the mighty AC Milan at San Siro. Arsenal needed a win desperately in that Champions League game. 75 minutes into the game, Fabregas let free a kick from 30 yards out and before I could air my frustration at another wasteful attempt, the ball hit the net. At 2 a.m in the night, I jumped with joy and shrieked out my elation. It was unbelievable. Arsenal had defeated AC Milan. For the next couple of months, the photo of Fabregas kicking that ball at San Siro adorned my desktop as the background image. A new hero had been found. And he only kept getting better as the seasons rolled by.

The transfer saga
The sole reason why the transfer was called a saga and went on for almost 3 seasons was because of how Fabregas dealt with the situation. There are those players who vociferously sling mud at their current clubs. And then there are those whose agents do that for them. Cesc wasn't one of them. He always acknowledged the role of Arsenal in helping him mature from a raw talent that left Barcelona at the age of 16 and went on to become one of the best goal creators in Europe. He never had a harsh word for Arsene Wenger. His heart belonged in Barcelona, but he knew how those at Arsenal considered him as one of them. Unlike others, he didn't leave to get a better pay package. Chelsea or Manchester City could have given him an offer twice of what he gets in Barcelona. It wasn't even just going back to Spain, for Real Madrid are known to splash big for a talent like his. It was only Barcelona that he wanted. A promise of winning trophies with him as the captain made him stay back for a season, but all of it turned out disappointing. He took blame where he was to blame.

An Arsenal legend?
I can sense a certain hatred among the Arsenal supporters who say that Fabregas doesn't really deserve the respect that he is being showered with. A look at other players in Arsenal itself is sufficient to know why they are wrong. No point mentioning players from our opposing clubs. It was said he wasn't giving his best for Arsenal, because his mind was always at Nou Camp. The statistics, though, show a different picture. They put him as the best goal creator in all the top 5 divisions in Europe since 2006-07. But if I were to honestly answer the question, "Was Fabregas an Arsenal legend?" I would have to say "No". Legendary was Thierry Henry. Legendary was Dennis Bergkamp. They gave their best years for the club and they took up so much responsibility to ensure Arsenal won trophies. They inspired their team mates when times weren't good. They came up with brilliance when it was needed most. Fabregas leaves when he is about to peak in his career. For someone with his talents, he will always keep getting better as he ages. So, even though, Arsenal is indebted to Cesc Fabregas for the wonderful 8 long years he spent at Arsenal, his name cannot be used in the same breath as the other legends of the club.

Good luck, El Capitan
Now that Fabregas is going, I don't intend to harp upon where he might fit in an already saturated midfield of Barcelona. I have lost yet another favourite player and have to begin looking for another. I look to the future with optimism hoping for another San Siro moment. It could also be a Nou Camp moment. But to Fabregas, I wish good luck. 15th August happens to be Indian Independence Day. In a way, Fabregas is now free to play where his heart belongs. I hope he achieves everything that his talent demands. I know he will be happy. After all, he is going home. Goodbye, El Capitan. You will be missed.

Hope Leaves

2011-07-19T00:00:00.000+05:30

Behind my home is a yard that is submerged in relative darkness due to a thick canopy of trees. In this yard, cawing crows, squealing squirrels and pigeons speak in pidgin as they jostle to grab the morsels of food that my mother leaves for them. Last week they had a strange visitor. A long beaked, blue coloured bird, all alone. The hostility which they all showed against this intruder was aired in an hour long cacophony. Curious about this visitor, I grabbed my binoculars and peered at a Kingfisher looking from top of a false roof at my neighbour's dog.

What most normal people do when they are in presence of such a show is to take in the whole surroundings as one and marvel at it. They enjoy the beautiful music weaved together by the squirrels as they shriek at the intruder. They watch the 30-odd crows feel threatened by a much puny kingfisher and run amok. Some even trying to scare it away. They see how the pigeons are apathetic towards everything and realise why their cousins, the white doves are used to signify Peace. The normal people, they love this scene.

How do I react? I escape the scene at the first instance. I run to my room, take out my camera, put on my longest lens (a 100mm f/2.8 in this case), insert the battery and rush back. Where normal people see beautiful shade in trees, I think "Darn! The light's playing tricks. I'll have to shift to ISO 400". The others, they see the squirrels munching food at blistering speed. I think, "1/200, f/4.0, ISO 200. Slight underexposure". While others admire the voices of the birds, I peer through my lens and "Aaarghh! I need a lens longer than 100mm!" This is what photography has made of me. A slave to technology. I see Nature through a filter. The filter has constrained my other senses.

The problem is that, despite all of these, I still can't conjure good pictures. You can judge it by the pictures I took of the Kingfisher.

New project
I am not one who is bogged down by misfortunes. I take all such mishaps in my stride and move on to shoot various other things my mother's garden has to offer. Fine, I'm lying. I get hugely disappointed when my photographs turn out bad. Alright, I'll admit the whole truth. I feel miserable when I realise that all the time and money I spent on my gadget are wasted every time I take ordinary photographs. Giving up isn't an option. People like you have already built up a misconception about my being an avid photographer. I have to show a stoic resolve within me to let that misconception linger longer. Which is when I decided on a new project. Something I haven't done before. Something which will take plenty of time and meticulous detailing. Something which will take a lot of organising. Something which will make me read a lot. Something. But what will that thing be, for God's sake?!

My mother has a huge garden. They stretch from the house of the neighbour living 2 doors away on our left to the neighbour living 3 doors away on our right. In front of the house and the backyard. There must be a thousand and one different plants in this area. OK, I exaggerate. A hundred and fifty, at the least. How do I, the laziest of all, know this? Because I'm entrusted the task of watering them and ensuring they stay alive when my mother is out of town. The task takes me nothing less than 25 minutes, 4 buckets of water and 2 buckets of sweat. At the end of it, the ordeal is considered a success by mom if less than 5 plants die when she returns home.
What the garden offers is an excellent option for a project. The macro lens costed a whopping $600 and has hardly been put to any use. There are flowers to be shot. Butterflies to be run behind. Bees to be run away from. It would break my mother's heart to admit that her garden doesn't contain many colourful flowers. And she doesn't break her heart often. The truth is there are hardly any new flowers left to click. But there is something else which is abundant -- Leaves. Which is where the new project comes in. I, hereby, call the project "Hope Leaves".
As a kid, I use to be fascinated by the patterns on the leaves. The first specimen of my tiny microscope at home was the cross section of a leaf. It was only later in life that Mandelbrot made an impact and realised what Fractals were. You don't need to look further from leaves to find out Fractals in Nature. I plan to shoot all the different types of leaves in the garden; outside the garden; everywhere I go. I'll shoot the green ones, the violet ones, the roundish and the tapering triangular ones, the tiny ones and I will shoot the tall ones too. Point out a tall Ashoka tree to some people and they will say Saraca asoca. Show them a beautiful, blazing, red, flowery Gulmohar tree and they will say Delonix regia. These people, of the scientific mindset, know all the botanical names and can rattle it out from the back of their heads just like that. I will learn the names. Every time someone shows me a leaf, I'll respond back with all the confidence I possess and say, "flickr dot com slash photos slash sudhamshu slash sets slash leaves. Check it out when you have time. I've already shot this leaf."

Hope Leaves it shall be. Hope Leaves, as in how my hope for photography lies with leaves. Hope Leaves, as in the song by Opeth. Hope Leaves, as in the thought that is crossing your mind when you think of my future.

Person's Puzzle Guide to Solving The Jobless Jigsaw: The End

2011-06-05T16:47:00.000+05:30

Previously on Picking up the pieces - Part II: (Again, if you are not taking my baits to click the links pointing to my previous blog posts, I can tell you that I had started putting together a 1000-piece jigsaw puzzle, much like I had started solving another 1000-piece jigsaw 2 years ago, and ended up sharing the pictures of the puzzle from how it converted itself, with my help, from a heap of jagged, ugly, distinct cardboard pieces, to a complete and beautiful picture, thereby making you read a really long sentence extended deliberately to such an extent that I myself have forgotten how this began, so that you feel irritated enough to click my links the next time around)

Now, there are discoveries that I made while solving the puzzle. The discoveries were mostly due to extrapolation of problem solving techniques from the simple domain of puzzles to real life issues. What works here, can also work elsewhere. Isn't that what pattern matching is all about? And pattern matching is a phrase more suited to jigsaw puzzles than it is to technological troubles, management misdeeds or political problems. A revelation which I had from these discoveries was that I should put down these revolutionary ideas as part of my next book. I will call it, "The Jobless Person's Guide to Jigsaw Puzzle Solving". On second thoughts, the name isn't befitting the content in itself. Which is why I'll change the name to, "Person's Puzzle Guide to Solving The Jobless Jigsaw". A man or a woman who is diligent enough to place the words together has passed the first test and is ready to take up the path to enlightenment. Much like getting the first stripe on your white belt in Karate training.

But for you to make me your Sensei, the Guru who shows you the right path, I have to prove my worth to you. To show that I have tread the path you have embarked upon. To make you believe that I know the hardships that stand in the way of putting disjointed, dissimilar, disoriented pieces together. To gain your unflinching faith. And for that, ladies and gentlemen, I present you damning evidence - photographs of my journey. You were waiting for this all the while, weren't you?

(I didn't know that this portion of a blog post was read too. The portion where all the pictures have been shared and main plot has been disclosed. Do you wait after the movies to read the rolling credits? This portion is just like that. But since you're here, and I'm here too, I shall reveal things that the rest don't know of, because they left early. There were 45 pieces missing in the puzzle. And, the newspaper below the puzzle is the matrimonial section of The Hindu)

Picking up the pieces - Part II

2011-05-23T23:28:00.000+05:30

Do you know what I have been up to lately? Nothing. Apart from falling sick, losing some weight, losing hair, buying a new wide angle lens, an external flash, losing sanity, going to Varanasi, a blooper and whiling away more time on the Internet, I have been up to absolutely nothing. You would have guessed it anyway, wouldn't you? Here's something you wouldn't guess. I am picking up the pieces, yet again.

Having known my readers, I would be surprised if you were a first-timer here. Even more surprised if you didn't make the connection from my earlier blog posts. Whatever brought you here, don't trust it. Anyway, missing the point yet again, I've been thinking of innovative ways to occupy my mind. Life is puzzling. Only way to make sense out of it is by throwing the puzzle back at Life. But it tends to throw some more puzzles back at you. At this point of adequate boredom-inducing-information, let me remind you of Picking up the pieces - Part I, the little project I took up a couple of years ago. If you didn't fall prey to my attempt at making you read another blog post of mine, it is a 1,000-piece jigsaw puzzle that I put together in 10 days or so. Back then, I mentioned the existence of another such puzzle in the dusty confines of my less ventured historic cupboard. The second puzzle fell out of the cabinet like skeletons do. Let me assure you that it was a skeleton that I was looking for in the cupboard - my birth certificate. I couldn't find that, but the sight of this puzzle sent a thousand bells ringing in my head. Alright, I exaggerate; it wasn't thousand. Not all the 1,000 pieces exist. 978 bells.

And here are the pictures of the progress of my repeat project.

Day 1: Take out the pieces; shuffle; jumble; make a mountain; CLICK.

Day 2: Segregate the pieces randomly. Pick out the corners. Start with what you think is the easiest portion of the scenary. CLICK.

Do you know what is the difference between these pictures and the ones in Part I? What did you say? "Different image/scenary?" I should've known you were dumb. Why did I even bother asking? These are shot with my new 10 mm ultra wide angle lens, you dummy!

Explaining Hairy Business

2011-05-06T23:16:00.001+05:30

The last few days have been a hairy ordeal. To justify my capability of irrational behaviour I submitted myself to the higher powers of my square root [(√-i)^n] and went bald. Since then I've been dis-tressed. And all of it is being caused by the penetrative, soul-searching questions that have repeatedly been being asked of me. Without the hair on the head, the journey to the brain is much quicker too. Most of these questions begin with a "Why" and end with a "?". Each only differing from the previous by the number of question marks following the bold and capitalised WHY. The question is such that no answer is considered sufficiently justifiable to the person who is seeing my pate. There ought to be something more which I'm hiding, they think. What can a bald guy hide?

I decided upon a novel plan. I would make everyone happy with my answer. And so began the collection of multiple reasons of going bald.

Climate change doomsday preachers: The heat, man. My hair just couldn't endure it anymore.
The pious ones: I'm mourning the death of Shri Sathya Sai Baba. They don't believe me until I tell them that my barber certainly believed so and promptly demanded Rs. 100 for his services.
The Football fans: I'm mourning Arsenal's trophy drought.
The bald folks: Brother! How can you feel lonely?! Welcome me to thy club.
The inquisitive pesky ones:You always kept wondering what went through this mind of mine. Here, I've made it easier for you to understand its intricacies.
The philosophical ones: To be more confident of myself. (If you aren't blessed with philosophical insights, I explain this in the footnote)
The anti-corruption enthusiasts: I'm going the Gandhian way. My support for Anna Hazare. (What? He isn't bald? He should be. Else, he isn't Gandhian enough)
The fairy tale believer: Prince William landed Kate Middleton because he was bald.
The Hollywood fan: Don't I resemble Vin Diesel now?
The Music fan: For Metallica who come for their first Indian tour! \m/
Photographers: Bounce the flash off my head.
The puzzle seekers: No more locks.
Fashion conscious folks: It's the latest fad.

Pick your own answer and satisfy yourself. If you fall outside this exhaustive list, you are lost. Your like doesn't land on this blog.

Footnote: The philosophy behind baldness is profound. For appreciating that, you have to imagine yourself being spoilt due to years of hairy business. Every time you find yourself in a sticky situation, every time you get embarrassed or every time you spot yourself in a mirror (which is the same thing) and every time you want to hide yourself in a crowd, what is it you do? Play with your hair. The years of pampering have made this a subconscious trait of yours. You don't know how secure you feel because of those locks. The closest you came to a feeling of insecurity was when you had a bad haircut or a bad hair day made itself visible in photographs. Whatever that feeling was, you consoled yourself saying, "This won't last long". But imagine how you would feel if it lasted longer than you thought. Once you have imagined that, multiply that feeling a hundred times and stop imagining. That is what being suddenly bald makes you realise. You are UGLY!
But being ugly is strangely liberating. When people you know spot you, they point at you and laugh. When the laughter has subsided and their eyes open to your view, they laugh again. It is followed up by the 'Why' discussed earlier. You endure it all. You've given them similar treatment. It is the strangers that are the ones that give you something to think about. When you're out amongst unknown crowds, no one notices you. This time, you don't even have to worry about how you look or if your hair isn't out of style. You're just another ugly face in the crowd. You no longer care. You feel nothing on your head weighing you down. You are more confident than you have ever been.

SETI Needs Help

2011-04-27T23:56:00.001+05:30

I heard the bad news through Twitter, first. SETI, Search for Extra-Terrestrial Intelligence, was about to put its 42 radio telescopes in hibernation for lack of funds. There was no announcement of it made on their official website, http://www.seti.org/ though. All the reports seem to be coming from a blog post made by Franck Marchis who is working on a different project. If true, the news is very sad. The array of 42 radio telescopes, called Allen Telescope Array (ATA), was being used to scan the sky for unnatural radio sources all through the day. It was something spoken about in the book (and subsequent movie based on it), Contact by Carl Sagan. It caught my attention.

Jill Tarter
And then I went about reading about the whole project. Which is when I came across a TED Talk by Jill Tarter. Jill Tarter was apparently the real life inspiration behind the character played by Jodie Foster in the movie Contact. The inspiring talk gave a good idea of perspective of Earth and the rest of the Galaxy, while also highlighting the probability of life in other systems. It delved in a brief history of intelligent life on our Earth and spoke about how and why search for intelligent life outside of our planet is important. The part where she spoke about the human ego to think we were alone and the end of the evolution was quite thought provoking. The ironic part of the talk lay towards the end when she showed hope in the future of the project by showing pictures of Barack Obama and promises he made towards furthering Science. 2 years from then, all the major money sources of SETI had begun cost-cutting due to US Government's policies. SETI had to put their project on hold until more funds appeared.

NASA's Kepler spacecraft
The sad part about the timing of the pull-out is in the recent discoveries made by NASA's planet hunting spacecraft, Kepler. On 2 February 2011, the Kepler team announced that the spacecraft had helped located as many as 1,235 planets, 54 of them probably habitable. The ATA could focus on these planets and search for radio sources, but there were no funds. They have setup a page for people to donate any amount to help them reach the target of $5 million that can make that search possible. I was so touched by the TED talk of Jill Tarter that I decided to make a small donation myself. If you wish to do the same, you can do that here - Help search for Kepler worlds.

Donations
The funding for such astronomy projects is quite interesting in itself. The ATA is named after Paul Allen, co-founder of Microsoft, who provided as much as $30 million to get the project going. Since then, the project has received donations, aids and help from companies like Amazon, Google, Dell, Intel and quite a few more Universities. It is very heartening to see the rich technology companies donating money into research in Science (as this could hardly be considered as an investment).

The road ahead for SETI is long and arduous. As Jill Tarter said in her talk, in the past 40 years, whatever their work has achieved could be just fill a glass of water in an ocean. The enormity of the project is way beyond daunting, but the search must go on. I hope I'm able to do more for Astronomy in the coming years.

Shunning Rationalisation

2011-04-24T15:07:00.000+05:30

An abundance of cliches about to be flung around. Shocking images to be displayed. Brace yourself. First, some philosophy to bore you enough. Have you heard about Rationalisation? That ignominious path accelerated and controlled by sound logic built over years of bad experiences that thoughts take, when on a whim you decide to do a certain act? Rationalisation is the sole saviour of all the humiliation you could have felt had you followed the orders from your foolish side of the brain. Rationalisation is a weapon that you ought to keep upgrading as it will certainly save you from plenty of embarrassing situations. Now comes the boring part that I had promised. Rationalisation is time consuming. It isn't too good in conservation of energy either. How many permutations and combinations do you have to think about when coming to a decision? Most importantly, it is utterly boring. If you are not convinced, a statement someone made about me earlier might convince you. "I expect you to do the right thing every time. You are the perfect model of a bore."

As a rebuttal to that accusation, I did what most people often do; I replied, "Oh yeah? Well you're a bore too." and followed it up with a flurry of pointless statements. That was the beginning of the end of complete rationalisation. The volley of insults felt good. Almost liberating. And here are the cliches that I promised. I realised that I was too full of myself, in my head. Too much head weight, as some might call it. I had to release some of the excess baggage that was being a burden. I wanted to feel light headed. I was feeling hot headed; summer is here and I wanted to have a cool head. Shave off a few of my worries. It all trimmed down to one thing. A visit to the barber.

You still haven't picked up the clue? How about 'Hair today; gone tomorrow'? Yes, in an act of complete irrationalisation, I went to the barber and littered all the hair on my head there and returned with none of it; my bare scalp gleaming in the sunny summer. All my life, I've had just two hair styles; being bald is the second of the two. I entered home and my father's brain refused to register a son's presence. Before he could start his inquisition of a stranger entering home without permission, I flashed my ugly embarrassed smile. Recognition. It's been a very difficult 3 hours from then on. The brain is out cold. My thinking abilities have taken a hit. The only way I could focus my thought processes was to locate the strand of hair that contained the thought, pull it and then twirl it around. There is none of it left anymore.

And here are the shocking images that I promised.

Facing dreaded 30

2011-04-11T22:53:00.002+05:30

The Sun is the same, in a relative way,
but you're older.
Shorter of breath,
one day closer to death.
- Time (Pink Floyd)

Another page unfurled. Another flip in the dreaded counter called Age. Another time the Earth circled the Sun, as I tried my best to stay as still as possible at my home wary of falling off Earth's orbit by the centrifugal force. Yes, the year went past that fast. Yes, I grew an year older. No, I am none the wiser. I spoke of the 20-year old gutless kid stuck in 30-year old body earlier. The fears of that kid just got a bit more closer.

I turned 29. I realised how important it is not to have an Internet birthday. Don't let any social networking site leak your date of birth and you'll have a peaceful online existence. Some living non-bots might leak the secret, but a deluge is averted. You are not left with doing a copy-paste of text thanking people who you never knew you had befriended. Instead, you are left with copious amounts of productive time which you can invest in watching back-to-back-to-back (x 3) episodes of House and pretend it is making you intelligent. Such indulgences have the advantage of numbing your head to the fears of having grown an year old. But be wary of those gaps between episodes. They make you watch the clock, the light outside the window and your growling stomach. They also bring back the emptiness that you've been escaping from.

It isn't the growing old that I'm afraid of; it's the inability to act my age and achieve things people my age are supposed to achieve which makes it so difficult. Age is like a barometer of your success in life. If you cross a milestone, you are compared with all your contemporaries; and ranked. A few inadequacies are forgiven. Anything beyond the standard deviation and the stares turn to disappointment. It rubs off on you. I have an year to reach that milestone before I'm rounded up too. Time to find out how to stay away from the firing squad.

Pranay did something interesting before he turned 30. Made an exhaustive list of things he wanted to achieve before that day. I'm certain he achieved all that and more. Nandan tells me that the worst of these fears is actually before you turn 30; twilight of twenties he calls it. After that it is much easier. Fears are built out of your own insecurities. Others only do the crime of tripping over them carelessly, like your ego was a banana peel on the road. They might fall and hurt themselves, but the banana peel is squashed. An year of darkness lies ahead and I decided to make my own exhaustive list. There was enthusiasm; the boundless kind. As hours passed into days, the boundaries shortened. This wasn't a test match; more like a T20 game; not much time at hand. (Who is making chicken noises? I didn't chicken out; no, I disagree with you)

From the dozen or so from the things-to-do list, I am left with 2 right now. I am planning to go backpacking across Europe all alone. Never stepped outside the shores of India. My aunt has been egging me on for quite a while to do this. Now that I've told her, that I'll be obeying her orders finally, she's been more helpful by pointing out countries and places to see. I'm getting plenty of advice from my friends in Germany too. The idea behind writing this here is in the hope that I don't develop cold feet and back out of my plans. Who said you can't get cold feet in a hot city like Chennai?

I'm trying to stay away from adding things that can be done on the Internet. Virtual accomplishments give virtual satisfaction. The other project that finds itself under the things-to-do list is building a telescope. The last physical thing I made on my own was piecing a 1000-piece jigsaw puzzle.

Now I know you're wondering when I'll mention about the other obvious expectation from old folks my age -- Marriage. I decided to stick to things which are under my control. The rest will happen, if they have to. And so begins the race to the dreaded 30, in the darkness of the twilight. I can already hear the firing squad cocking their guns.