The Professional Pakau

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.

Balram dispels a paradox

2012-01-12T15:03:00.000+05:30

Balram: "You look drowsy for this time of the day. Are you feeling sick?"
Suyodhana: "Nope. I'm OK."
Balram: "Why are you so dull, then?"
Suyodhana: "I'm just feeling very sleepy."
Balram: "Having trouble sleeping in the nights?"
Suyodhana: "Nope. Actually, I've started going for early morning runs the last two days. By the time it's afternoon, I start feeling very sleepy."
Balram: "Early morning?! Wow. That's very interesting to know. How early is this in the day?"
Suyodhana: "I wake up by 5:30 and start running by 6."
Balram: "That's very encouraging. For someone who used to wake up at 9 a.m every day, a 4 hour advance must be a big change for the day's routine."
Suyodhana: "Man! It sure is. By the time I come back from my run, it's just 7:30 and I have two hours at hand with no clue how to utilise them."
Balram: "There is always a lot of things you could do to make good use of that time. Mornings are particularly wonderful when you want to learn something new. The mind is fresh from all the rest it got the previous night and it is more receptive to newer ideas."
Suyodhana: "Argh! C'mon. Now don't start off with your creative pursuits. This running business itself is tough to handle for now."
Balram: (laughing) "I can see that. How are you motivating yourself to do this?"
Suyodhana: "I met this old chap some days back. Fellow claims to have a discipline like he just came out of military or something. Says that he's been logging his runs for the past 3 months. Just think of it. Every day after he runs, he notes down the time he started, the time he stopped, route he ran on. He might even log how much water he drank! He claims to have run 450 kilometres in that time. He kept on nagging me more than an hour about how splendid he felt every day. He made fun of my belly. I mean, look at this, you really think this is fat here I have? Fine, it isn't exactly rock hard abs that I have, but it isn't a big paunch either. But that chap kept going on and on about health, fitness, joy of running, feeling of high and what not? I could have heard and dismissed all of it. Then he started talking down on 'this generation'. You know that type, don't you? They think their generation was the last one where everything good stopped. You know what I'm trying to say?"
Balram: "Despite the English of your generation, yes. I guess that behind my back you talk of me also belonging to that generation?"
Suyodhana: "Of course not! I have huge respect for you! Why would I do anything like that?"
Balram: "Never mind. So what happened afterwards?"
Suyodhana: "I got pissed off with the old chap, what else? I took him up for a challenge. I told him I'd start running from the next day and in less than 3 months, I'd run more than he did."
Balram: (smiling) "And how are you going to do that?"
Suyodhana: "That is what even he asked me. He actually laughed it off. It pissed me even more. I told him I'd do it in 2 months. He accepted the challenge and said that if I won, he would gift me a gaming console. His way of saying that 'this generation' prefers being couch potatoes."
Balram: (laughing) "Oh, he got you there! What if you lost?"
Suyodhana: "That's not going to happen."
Balram: "What did he ask in return if you lost? Must be something as expensive as a gaming console, surely!"
Suyodhana: "He said, he only asked for respect in return. That I needed to respect elders more if I lost. His way of showing me humility."
Balram: "That man sounds interesting! So tell me, how are you planning to go about it?"
Suyodhana: "It's quite simple, you know? The old chap runs 5 kms a day. Nothing less, nothing more. I'll run 10 kms a day and in half the time I will have completed the 450 kms."
Balram: "Interesting. Just out of curiosity, how much have you run in the last 2 days?"
Suyodhana: "I could run just 4 kms yesterday. And only 3 kms today. My legs hurt and my breath gives away."
Balram: "Uh Oh!"
Suyodhana: "It doesn't matter. It's just the beginning. He said I'll get consistent after a week."
Balram: "Oh! He's also tutoring you?!"
Suyodhana: "Old men can't give up an opportunity to give lessons, can they? Yes, he does that after his run. I wait for him to complete. He's much slower than I am."
Balram: "I'm beginning to doubt if you really passed mathematics in school, Suyodhana."
Suyodhana: "I did very well in Maths, for your information. Aced it sometimes! Soon, I'll be running 10 kms a day. And if not in 45 days, I could do it in 60-65 days. It's still faster than the 90 days he took."
Balram: "I still wonder how you cleared your Mathematics exams."
Suyodhana: "Why is that?"
Balram: "Have you forgotten that your 'old chap', whatever his name is, is also running every day? He is running 5 kms every day. Even if you ran 450 kms in 60 days, he would have run 300 kms more. That's 750 kms. In 60 days, you'd only be where he is now, not where he will be 60 days from now."
Suyodhana: "Oh! Darn! I didn't think of that?! I'd have to run more in that case? How much more?! 15 kms a day? 20kms? A whole marathon every day?! How much?"
Balram: "That 'old chap' must be a genius. There's no way you can catch up with him, you know? It's an ancient problem, this one. They even call it a paradox, of sorts."
Suyodhana: (panicking) "You've got to be joking! What are you talking about?! I don't understand anything?! How can that be?!"
Balram: "You know that you can run more than him every day. So you think you can out-run him eventually. It seems quite obvious to you. But he has got a headstart and you will always play catch up. In 60 days, if you get to 450 kms, he would be at 750 kms. You will take 30 days more to get to 750 kms. In those 30 days, he would have run 150 kms and would be at 900 kms. You get where I am going? Keep breaking it into smaller intervals. You both keep running and you might make up ground by reducing the gap between you two, but by the time you've run as much as he has, he has run just a bit more. You can get as close to his total as possible, but you will never be able to run more than he has run."
Suyodhana: "But... but... that doesn't make sense?"
Balram: "Have you read about Geometric series in those Mathematics classes that you claim to have aced?"
Suyodhana: "Of course I have."
Balram: "Can't you see this is a geometric series? Every time the interval (the time you take to run as much as the 'old chap' did earlier. 60, 30, 15, 8...) keeps reducing into half of the original. 1/2 + 1/4 + 1/8 + 1/16 + 1/32 and so on. If you add them up it comes very close to 1, but is never equal to 1."
Suyodhana: (Scribbles on a paper with some confusion. Scratches his head and looks at Balram in bewilderment) "That's... surprisingly right. Darn!"
Balram: "So what are you going to do about it? The man has fooled you, no doubt. You had lost the challenge even before it started."
Suyodhana: (frustrated) "I hate that man!"
Balram: "But all he asked in return was for respect, wasn't it? Maybe you can give him that. He managed to fool you for 2 days straight."
Suyodhana: (resigned) "Yeah. I guess so. I'll speak to him tomorrow. Very respectfully, I'll add."
Balram: "So you've given up?"
Suyodhana: "Yeah. I have. Like I have a choice. Don't rub it in now."
Balram: "Well, then let me tell you that I was only pulling your leg. Run the equations again. And going by the geometric series logic I confronted you with, in 130 days, you might actually start running more than him, if you ran 10 kms every day."
Suyodhana: "I knew you were tricking me!"
Balram: "And yet you gave up so easily. All because I tried to confuse you with representing the problem in such a manner that it became difficult for you to think clearly. You could have confronted me and asked me to explain the paradox. It's actually called Zeno's paradox, named after Zeno's philosophical problem after Achilles and the tortoise. Look it up.
People will always try to confuse you, either to make a fool of you or to delay your judgement for their selfish needs. Never get bogged down by complexity. If you feel there is something wrong in the problems in front of you, take a moment and try to simplify it. If you can't get rid of the confusion in your head and achieve clarity, people will succeed in creating further confusion."
Suyodhana: "Wow. That's some lesson I have learnt! I'll try to remember that."
Balram: (smiling) "I hope you have understood what I was trying to convey."
Suyodhana: "Oh! Definitely! I won't get let people confuse me like that anymore."
Balram: "Then can we revisit the Mathematics again?"
Suyodhana: "What do you mean?"
Balram: "Your old chap runs 5 kms a day. He's already run 450 kms. If you run 10 kms a day, in how many days will you run as much as he has?"
Suyodhana: "That's how it is to simplified?"
Balram: "Yes. If 'x' is the no of days, your equation becomes:

450 + 5 * x = 10 * x

Solving it, shows that x is 90 days. In 90 days, you can outrun him."
Suyodhana: "Wow!"
Balram: "And if you still want to beat him in 60 days, like you challenged him, you need to run 12.5 kms a day. Now go ahead and get that gaming console."

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.

The Balloon Man

2011-06-30T00:15:00.002+05:30

"Bade rasile aam jaisa peela.
Bhare samandar se bhi neela.
Tumhare pyaare gaalon jitna laal.
Lelo gubbare mere pyaarelal."

That sounded like a very weird couplet. So childish. Who writes such words these days? And who bothers singing them? I was stuck in a traffic jam. Cars ahead of me, stranded. Cars behind me, honking. It is 11 a.m and the temperature hovers around 40 degrees celsius. I am irritated by all the sweat trickling down my back. I turn around to glare at the person whose hands seem to have got stuck on the horn. That's when I saw him from the corner of my eye. He was repeating the couplet with as much enthusiasm as he did earlier. The Balloon man. There are kids running towards him baring their teeth showing glee. Their mothers running behind them hoping to catch them before they get too far out of sight. It all fits now. The traffic has piled up because there is a nursery school on this road. Cars are here to pick up the kids. And they are parked haphazardly all around. 11 a.m is when these little 4-5 year old brats are released back to the world. The Balloon man gets most of his business because of these kids. He knows how he can entice them. Bright colours. Funny noises. Accompanied by rhyming words. Masks with smiling characters. And a wide smile on his face. Whatever he is selling, the kids want it. Their mothers don't share the same enthusiasm. There is shouting and some bawling. One child wins a battle against his mother. Other mothers are made to follow suit. A war is won.
One child doesn't understand the rhymes and asks his mother, "What's he saying mom?". The mother takes a while to translate it.

"As Yellow as a juicy mango.
As Blue as the ocean can glow.
Like your cheeks they are Red.
Come. Take these ballons, dear friend."

The eyes of the child light up. And he immediately demands the Red balloon. The foolishness of the rhymes. The easy targets in the children. The helpnessness of the guardians. I can't take in this scene anymore. Not because I am amused. The traffic has cleared up a bit. The honking is now laced with a few curse words hurled at me. I go on my way. The irritation in my mind has been replaced by a smile. As I go on, I take a look at the faces of the people. Everyone seems grumpy. In this weather and amidst this cacophony, who wouldn't be so? But the balloon man, he smiles through it all. There must be a lesson in there for me. I don't have the time to contemplate.

Weeks had passed on. The temperatures had risen in the time that had passed. I was still easily irritable. I had gone to the beach with a few friends. There was some heated debate going on. I remember fuming at a friend for having made rather stark observations. I was about to throw a fit of rage when I heard some familiar words and noises. I turned around to find out where the sounds came from.

"... like your cheeks they are Red.
Come. Balloons are yours, dear friend."

  There he was. The Balloon man. With his colourful balloons, troop of kids jostling around him, cackling with laughter, a big wide grin on his face and he even seemed to have memorised the English version of his own verse. Partly. He couldn't pronounce it well, but the kids enjoyed it even more. The rage in my head had waned away. The train of thoughts was lost. I paused in my tracks to take in this scene and be amazed again. How could a man like him be so happy all the time? And he spread happiness every where he went. A pinch of jealousy could be felt inside my heart. The man had a soily shirt which seemed to have been torn in a few places. He didn't have slippers to shield his legs from the heat. The bags he carried along with him seemed heavy and dirty. But nothing could weigh down his smile. It seemed like he had tapped into some unknown source of eternal happiness. A whack at the back of my head brought my attention back. The friends had stopped the debate and my sudden distraction had become an object of ridicule. They were laughing at how I'd stopped talking mid sentence. The tension that the debate had caused amongst us was gone now. I smiled too. Albeit slightly embarrassed. We walked away from the Balloon man. But I had found a new hero. Someone whose traits were worth emulating.

  A little bit of positive attitude change takes you some distance. I tried to find things to make me happy. I wanted to be happy like the Balloon man. Despite everything. Whatever I tried, I kept falling back to being morose after a few days. Happiness came. Sometimes I faked it. It always left before I could take delight in it. Why couldn't I be more like the Balloon man? I tried recollecting things about the Balloon man. He had bright colours around him. Funny masks stared at him all day. Things he created, made funny noises. I asked myself, "How happy would you be, if you surrounded yourself by colourful smiles?".

  I passed that road again today. I was there slightly early. There still was about 30 minutes before the kids would be let out of the nursery school. The road was empty. I could see my hero sitting on the footpath next to the nursery. I slowed down. There was something on his face that caught me by surprise. There was no trace of the wide smile. No glow that emanated from his enthusiasm. He just sat there with a blank face picking out colourful pieces from his tattered bag and blew air into them to make them into balloons. Tied a thread around it and stuck it on his contraption. Next to him sat a small child. Wrapped in a torn, muddy shirt and dirty hair. He looked a lot like the balloon man. He tried to grab a balloon for himself, but his father took it back and yelled at him. Tears began to well up in the child's eyes. The balloon man looked at him glumly. The balloons were for the richer kids. They were meant to bring happiness only for them. If there was any stock left at the end of the day, he might let his son have one balloon. But if he couldn't sell many, there would be no food for him today. Where there used to be a glint, I can see deep sadness in his eyes. He who makes so many children happy, can't make his own son happy? Life is always full of irony. There's no time to waste though. The parents of the children will be coming soon to pick up their kids. Plenty of balloons need to be made before that. I need to be moving on too. I can't get stuck in another traffic jam.

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.

The tune stuck in my head

2011-03-31T23:23:00.000+05:30

The tune began playing louder. I could sense myself smiling away as I hummed along. I wasn't able to name the song, but I knew its lyrics. Where was the song playing? Who was playing it? Or what?

"She's got a smile that it seems to me,

reminds me of childhood memories,

where everything was as fresh as the bright blue sky."

It's Sweet Child O' Mine by Guns N' Roses. I've loved this song for really long. It makes me happy. But something is strange about the way it plays right now. It's playing somewhere far. What is playing it? And then it struck me. It was the ringtone of my mobile phone. Somebody is calling me. Who would call me so early in the day? I don't want to wake up. This dream is good. I want to stay here. Stop ringing. Go away. Leave me alone.

That is when I woke up. The phone was lodged in my hand. There is no missed call. Nobody was calling me. I close my eyes again. I want that dream back. Where was I? Yes. Sweet Child O' Mine. I was singing along. With someone. But who was it? Where did that sound come from, if it wasn't the phone? I was happy just a while ago. But there is this sudden feeling of emptiness I feel. The smile is wiped away. I'm not happy anymore. So many questions. Why do I feel so empty? It feels like someone drilled a huge hole in my heart. And this void just won't go away. I can't fake this sleep anymore. The dream is gone. No forcing it anymore. I sit up and look around scratching my head. How can dreams be so volatile? Why do those thoughts just vaporise? You can take away my thoughts. You can take away the words they contain. But you cannot erase the way they made me feel.

I think an email was involved somewhere.

Dearest,

I came back home today and I felt gloomy. It was a weird feeling to have because the last person I met, was you. I say it is weird because I remember talking to you for hours together. I try remembering the things we talked about and I can't recollect any of it. I remember that you laughed. I remember it vividly because you looked beautiful when you laughed and your twinkling eyes are somehow photographed in my head. I strain my head a bit and I can hear your giggles there. I remember that I was amazed at some startling philosophy that you spoke about. But apart from remembering how it struck me that you were capable of thinking of profound things, I couldn't recall anything else. But all these memories are the ones that made me happy. Yes. I remember being so happy that I wished time would cease to exist right there and we could pause our lives at that moment. Something must have happened after that to make me feel so terribly depressed right now.

We went to that coffee shop, didn't we? What was it that you ordered? Something with chocolate in it? I know I told you I'd remember that name of your favourite drink. But I've forgotten that already. We were just doing idle talk, weren't we? Now I remember that long silence that followed while I sipped away my drink. I kept thinking of something to say, but nothing would strike. It's all coming back slowly. You seemed distant as you gazed away towards the beach. The silence just kept growing bigger and it almost felt like another person amidst us. And it was stopping me from saying anything anymore. So there I sat staring at you. Did you know that you squint your eyes while thinking deeply? Sometimes, your eyes twitch a bit. Your fingers start making curls of your hair. The best part of it is when your eyes start shining. I can tell that you've been smiling inwardly at some thought. The coffee mug wasn't big enough. It finished before I could get a view to my heart's content. Now I remember it completely. It was right then that you said you wanted to go home. I wanted some more time with you. I was enjoying this moment. But how could I keep you from going home? I had nothing to say. I almost pleaded you to stay. But you looked bored. Yes. That was it. I had nothing interesting to share with you. You went away because after I'd told all my rehearsed stories, I was a boring person. That is why I feel so gloomy. That is why I feel this void in my heart. I know deep down that I'm not good enough. I'm not worthy of you.

That was the email. I wrote an email in my dream? I can remember some of its contents, but why can't I remember the person to whom I addressed the email? Did I end an email in such a helpless manner? That is so unlike me. I must have written something else. Something to rekindle the lost hope. I can't remember that either. But that feeling of emptiness is so real. Those words explain why I feel this void in my heart. That is it, isn't it? It feels so right. I'm not worthy of that person.

What is that beeping sound about now? "1 unread message". An SMS?

"That was the loveliest email I've ever received! I wait for that day patiently. You're the best!"

What? How can that silly email be considered lovely? There must be a mistake. I need to check the emails I've sent. Now what do we have here?

Dearest,

I have so many friends around and yet I have never felt so lonely all my life. There are so many things happening in my life that I should be feeling depressed, but every time I turn my thoughts to you, I can feel that spark light up. That spark of hope. I don't know much about myself. All I know is that I am still not the person I want to be. I am working on it. I've been working on it all these years. I want to be a thinker. A philosopher. I want to make my own theories and build up my own rationale of how and why things happen. And how I should cope with them. I want to be a wise man. I want to acquire knowledge. So much knowledge that I would never lose my calm. Did you know the worst fears are those which are created by ignorance? I don't want to be ignorant. I have developed a hunger for information. In my pursuit of knowledge I've come across some really astonishing insights. There is so much mystery around waiting to be probed. I want to investigate all those theories. The human mind is also one such mystery. There is so little known about it. Did you know that thoughts can traverse time? It is no wonder how we can easily invoke the past and feel all those emotions. Do you know about Deja Vu? You can feel the future too, can't you? I've been probing this theory very intricately. I know that if I keep trying I might succeed some day.

We haven't met. We haven't spoken. We don't know each other yet. But I know deep down that the moment I see you I'll know it is you that I've been waiting for all my life. That time is far away. There is a lot to be done before I can will it to happen. I know that you are worried that you might not recognise me when you see me. That is the reason why I am writing this to you. I do believe that I can transmit my thoughts to the future. I just have to attune myself to your frequency and I have enough patience to wait for the harmonics. Until that day comes before us, I spend my moments becoming a better person. By then I would have so much to talk to you about that you would never get bored of me. You would never have to gaze at the distance and remember the past and all the promises I held for you. That past is now, isn't it? I know it with all certainty that by the time we meet I would be worthy of you.

See you soon.

"How soon? You've been saying soon for the past 20 minutes."
"Soon. Very soon. Have patience."
"What patience? Look at the time. Don't you have to go to office today?"
"Time is just an illusion."
"Office isn't. Stop talking stupid and wake up."
"Wake up? I'm not awa..?"

I open my eyes and look around. Yes, this is my room. I look at my hands. There's no mobile phone. No emails. No SMS. I rub my eyes and sit up. This felt real. This had to be real. It can't be a dream. Everything seemed so right. I felt unworthy and foolish and fouled that meeting. Went to the past to fix it. Fix myself. And the future is much better. When is this future? Why does it all feel so absurd now? I must stop watching Sci-fi movies at night. That feeling again. That void in my heart. Argh!
(tune of Sweet Child O' Mine starts playing)

Photographing Tiruvotriyur

2011-03-13T19:09:00.003+05:30

I woke up at 4:30 a.m. It is an important event and it ought to be mentioned. There was a photowalk at Tiruvotriyur at 6 a.m. The place is close to Chennai's port and adjacent to the shore. Groynes line up the shore-line making it an attractive location to take photographs of sunrise. The sun would rise at 6:13 a.m, said Accuweather on my mobile. I had to be there earlier for the twilight. It had been really long since I felt that urge to wake up at unearthly hours, race the Sun and shoot the splendid skies it paints just before it shows up. I set the alarm for 4:30 a.m and I woke up when it rang. There was a silly dream that would have troubled me had I allowed it to go on its course. I was thankful for the alarm. Today, reality will be better than the dream.

I've waken up mom too. I feel guilty for it. I leave home by 5 a.m. Skies are dark. Still some time to go before twilight. But I've to drive 25kms. Chennai wakes up early. Very early compared to Mumbai. Milk vendors, aged men and many others are already up and going about their tasks. I see a man jogging on the streets. He seems to be in his 40s. The guilt is clawing harder. I speed away from the 40-year old fitness enthusiast at 40 kmph. Empty roads; the bike is loving it. Strangely, the signals are already functional. The MTC (public transport) buses, that never stop at signal in daylight, are halting at the signals. I hit traffic-- surprisingly. I'm near Chennai Central. Or is it crowded because of the General Hospital? No time to find out; have to race the Sun. The port is nearing. I'm stuck on narrow roads between container lorries. It is scary. I want to go back home; and sleep. Courage, my friend. The shores are here. I find a spot to park my bike facing the sea. I haven't purchased the tripod yet. The bike will be my tripod.

People straying around me with amused eyes. Time for test shots. Light is improving. The clouds are spoiling the fun though. Have some patience. Fishermen are busy; already a mile within the sea. On another day, they'd be back with their catch, sell it & I would wake up after someone had purchased those fishes and consumed it for breakfast; or lunch. Today is different. Today is photowalk day. My days in Chennai wouldn't have been worthy of logging, if it weren't for these photowalks. I'm thankful to it for igniting the passion for photography within me. That passion has waned away long time back. I still persist with the photowalks because it gave me something more than photography. It gave me friends.

The clouds played spoilsport. Twilight wasn't so captivating. It is already 6:27 a.m and there's no sign of the Sun behind the clouds. I find my way to the Tiruvotriyur temple. That's where the photowalk begins. I look around for familiar faces. I am greeted with smiles. I am late; they think I got lost again. This temple is unusually large, for a temple considered within the city. Doesn't look all that inviting from outside.

But within it, the place where the original temple was, is very different. The priests are not perturbed by camera wielding intruders. This is a surprise. In the city, elsewhere, the priests are downright rude. Let's not even mention those at Parthasarathy temple, Triplicane. To respect their trust, we don't shoot any idols. But the temple is beautiful within, because it is ancient. Chandru narrates stories about its past. Points to a place where animal & human sacrifices used to be made a few centuries ago. I wish I knew such history too, but I'm not a history buff. All around the temple walls there are inscriptions. Incomprehensible old tamil script on the old walls.

Comprehensible Tamil script & Western symbols on the newer walls; youngsters proclaiming their eternal love. The pillars of the temple compound have a stark difference between the old and new. The modern artisans seem apathetic towards attention to detail. There is another temple in the vicinity. Graveyard temple of Pattinathar. A mendicant who took 'samadhi' at this place, informs Chandru. It's a walk; the walk part of Photo-walk; in the Sun. Small temple; long stories; bigger myths; there always are.

It is 9 a.m now; lot of time has been whiled away; few photographs have been taken; I'm happy with them; been really long since I got so many photographs of varying styles. I've become anti-social. Don't talk openly to people anymore. The Sun makes itself felt. Just 3 hours ago, I was urging it to show up and it wouldn't. Now I want it to go away. I've to go home. It's a Saturday; I've got to report at work. I'm taking a shorter route back home; a part of Chennai I've never seen earlier. Manali, it is called. I mispronounced it as Man-aa-li, the popular tourist spot up North, to the amusement of my friends. I'm following Ram N; he's my GPS (as he points out in the comments section!) Another long drive back home. Not as pleasant with the shining Sun. Oh! How things change in few hours; and years.

Update: Added a few more details, after it was pointed out in the comments section that I was rushing towards an ending too quickly. Must refrain from being lazy as, surprisingly, people do read this blog! Thank you!

AoA: Attack of Acronyms

2011-02-11T13:32:00.001+05:30

Boss: "Where are we on EF4 CTP5?"
I: "What the EF?"
Boss: "I see. What about WCF RIA SP1?"
I: "What's the link between them?"
Boss: "Speaking of which, where are you on LINQ?"
I: "What are you talking about?!"
Boss: "Complete JUNK, ya!"

A barrage of acronyms, as life begins in the office every day. Very rarely do I write about my work on the Internet. Not that it isn't interesting. Not even that I'm bound not to speak about it. Just that I like to talk more about things other than it. Incidentally, this not talking of work led to some amusing moments in a tweetup (meet-up between Twitter pals). I joined them late, as usual. And they were trying to figure out what my line of work was. The consensus was - Advertising. What a wide departure from the truth. If I'd known anything about Advertising, I'd be raking in the moolah from Google Adsense on my blog. It wouldn't be a meagre $12 (rounded upwards) after 2 years, would it? What? No relation to advertising? See. I am completely ignorant about that field.

If those folks would've spent some time reading my Bio on Twitter or the one here, on my blog, it would've been evident that I am yet another software developer. But this post isn't about people's misconceptions. Let them live with it. This is about the new challenges that are crumbling me at work.

The Gamer geek:
Not long ago, 7 or 8 years to be precise (Alright. Long ago), I used to be a geek. In my free time in college, I used to sit at my PC and write programs in C - for fun. I'd design games; Pacman, Tetris, Snake, I tried them all. Unsuccessfully. Database was something I found boring. As fate would have it, that's where my work took me. For years, I worked on the Oracle platform trying to master databases, the middle-tier, the UI, application design, implementation and maintenance. (Psst. I even tried developing games over Oracle UI. Don't tell that to my boss!) You want acronyms? I got an OCP certificate. Oracle Certified Programmer. (Like I really care if Oracle deems me to good enough?!) In short, the gamer geek days were in the past. I became an AN - Application Nut.

The Microsoft ocean:
But Oracle is what Oracle claims not to be. An elitist. Uncaring about the those that cannot afford it. Our clients can't afford it. So a paradigm shift ensued. Shift the whole massive application built over 15 years of work into a new platform which is affordable and better. And that is where the whole Attack of Acronyms began. My days of care-free fun with C in my mind, I thought this transition would be easy for me. Oh! I couldn't be any wronger! C became C# with 4 versions after it. There is this whole platform-independence solution called .Net, another 4 versions down. For application design, there is a slew of tools from Silverlight, ASP.Net for UI, WCF RIA, MVC, MVVM and what-not in the middle tier to separate the UI design and the database. And then there are the Object-Relational mappers with Entity Framework (EF) to talk to databases. New querying languages that gel firmly with code called LINQ. Each mountains within themselves. Only respite being that the database, SQL Server, isn't that different from Oracle. But how do I learn all of these quickly? It's like a whole ocean ~~flooded~~ developed by Microsoft and I don't know how to swim.

So you give up?
That's the easiest thing to do, right? Give up. There it is. Calling me ever so softly. And I, so lured by the reluctance to change. This needs to be fought. My best has always come when I was pushed in a corner and someone held a gun against my head forcing me to perform well. I'm not there in the corner yet and not everybody is allowed to hold a gun these days. But the pressure can be felt. I'm going to fight this. The only problem is that I feel guilty of not doing any work for quite a long time. Work, as I see it, is doing something that directly or indirectly translates to income for the company. This is more like an investment in the future.

Boss: "What are you reading about now?"
I: "C-Sharp Four-point-O"
Boss: "You're not as sharp as you were earlier. On a scale of O to 10, I give you minus 4."
(sigh)

I've lost my voice

2011-02-07T18:23:00.001+05:30

I have lost my voice. The voice that would speak of every insignificant event that would occur in my life. The voice that would metaphorically convey every significant event of my life. If someone wanted to know what I had been upto, all they had to do was look me up on the Internet and I would stand bare in front of them. Laugh at it. Feel bad for it. Talk back to it. I've lost that voice now. It is my turn to become apathetic.

I strolled around the Internet looking for interesting things to read. I found plenty of things that grabbed my attention. Too many to grasp, in fact. I shared all of them with that voice. Through that voice. People thought I was interesting. I started believing them. What a fool I was. What I read, doesn't make me interesting. It is what I feel, what I think, what I write or talk about, the original thoughts or ideas that come from me is what makes me interesting. And look at me now. Without that voice, I am dumb.

There was a time when I explained the processes involved in the The birth of an Idea. The adrenaline, the lively feeling of discovering something unique by yourself. I can't remember the last time I ever felt that. Did that lost voice take it away? Now that I've lost it, can I get back those thoughts? New ideas? I want to feel alive in my head again.

I read of people that hunt around looking for inspiration. I do that sometimes. But inspiration also needs moderation. Lack of it can leave you disillusioned. Too much of it can do the same. You need to take the inspiration and let it guide you to do things you couldn't think you were capable of doing. If you spend that energy continuing your hunt, what is left for you? Just a bunch of useless inspirational stories.

I know the places I can depend on, when I hunt for inspiration. I know it won't take time to feel the adrenaline. But where do I expend that energy now? I want to feel that upsurge again. To shout out 'Eureka!'. But I have no voice anymore.

The attack of the semi colons;

2011-02-02T23:25:00.000+05:30

Unsure of what to think; unsure of what to write; unsure of how to write; so began the attack of the semi colons. The cold days are over; I sweat before I start my workouts; I tire too early. Mosquitoes swarm around my legs; they seem to flourish in this weather. The trees have begun to shed their leaves; I remember my project to click those beautiful barren trees; I plan to shoot dead trees. Tunisia is free; It dances helplessly; Egypt burns; fires dance as the rest of the Arab world boils from within. The heat is beginning to get to my head.

The keyboard isn't working at home; it leaks random letters at random intervals. I've been looking at laptop specifications; asking for quotes. But I don't want to get rid of this one; I love it too much; I try to work around the problem; I get a USB keyboard. One laptop, two keyboards. I see that Apple Macintosh Macbook Pro 15" laptop; people lust over it. It costs Rs. 1,19,000/-; a Rs. 1,000/- discount by Steve Jobs. I have the money; I wish to splurge; I wish to feel guilty after it too; just like I did with this one. I don't want to learn from my mistakes.

I've identified half a dozen trees around the city. Lonely; barren; intricately complicated; standing out from the rest distinctly; an utter beauty. I plan to wake up early one of these weekends when those trees become completely devoid of all leaves; naked purity. I want to click them with the backdrop of the twilight; I'll do it in two sets; or more; I'll learn the tricks of the trade. You are not invited.

I need a good wide angle lens; also a good tripod; maybe an external flash too. I want the first two to shoot those trees. I could get a Dell Inspiron 15 R and all of these and yet have money in my hand. I reach my hands out wide; I try to grab things that aren't within my reach. The Macbook Pro isn't lust-worthy anymore. It can find a better owner; who takes care of him and doesn't leave him unattended; to be attacked by dust and grime; and suffer.

I push myself beyond my limits; some more; 5 more; just one more; the workout drains out my mind; I feel revitalised again; I feel empty again; I can do more; I can take much much more; everyone around me is unhappy; I don't let my tears come anywhere near my eye; some more time; 5 more minutes; it'll all be over soon; just one more time.

Dictators lust for power; hold on to a country like it were their sons; or daughters. The children feel unloved; unattended; forgotten. A revolt day after day; how long until a revolution? Is that the end? A happy ending? What after it? Another greedy person takes over? Another despot? For decades; decadence. I still dream for things beyond my reach.

I'll be 29 soon; a 20-year old gutless kid in a 30-year old body; unwilling to grow up. I dreamt dreams as a 20 year old; my friends did too; some of them achieved it; others didn't; I didn't; I still hold on to mine. That 20 year old kid was stupid; I can see him for what he really was; yet I cling to his dreams. I need to dream new dreams. What is my reach now? Why would I tell you?

iyheastiedyoowuhaclalnti?; my keyboard is leaking characters again; my head leaks ideas just like it; random; senseless; without continuity; without form; I can't concentrate anymore; random; I can write everything I feel; you just won't understand it anymore; you don't want to.

Using the Mobile Number Portability

2011-01-22T19:05:00.007+05:30

The Mobile Number Portability (MNP) was introduced in India on 20 January, 2011. It was something that we, at our office, were looking forward to eagerly for more than a year. We currently have 5 post-paid connections with Vodafone India and we applied for the MNP to shift to BSNL on 21 January, 2011. I share the story for others to acquire information on the process involved.

We acquired 5 MNP forms from the closest Customer Service centre of BSNL. You are required to provide the current mobile number, service provider, type of connection and the no of times you've used MNP earlier.
You will need an 8-digit Unique Porting Code (UPC) too. This can be acquired by sending an SMS to 1900, the text being PORT (followed by your phone number). The 8-digit UPC is valid for 15 days from the time you acquire it.
The MNP form very clearly states how the bills will be settled with the provider whom you are quitting (depending on pre/post paid). Do read it.
On 22 January, 2011 we visited the BSNL office at RK Nagar to complete the process of shifting to a BSNL prepaid. TRAI has said that operators can charge Rs. 19/- for the shift, but BSNL waived that as a promotional offer. The new SIM cards were acquired without any trouble. It is after this that the trouble started.
We get a message from 1901 saying the "porting request is rejected by your service provider due to legal reasons". Followed by message from Vodafone saying the porting was "rejected due to The number or range is in Contractual Obligations.. Request you to call our customer care at 111 or walk in to our Stores for further action".
Customer care of Vodafone says that we haven't paid our bills, the due date for which being 30 Jan, 2011 and the unbilled amount for the current month. This was the reason why the porting request was rejected. Vodafone had Rs. 250/- taken as deposit when the SIM cards were bought. Additionally, the MNP form clearly states that the operator is supposed to provide a bill for usage during the shift-over time, later. But Vodafone doesn't trust its customers and insisted on us paying the 'Unbilled amount'.
The payments were made after manual calculations done by a Vodafone customer care agent.
We went back to the BSNL office to restart the process of MNP. Here is where the vast gap in customer service showed. The Divisional Engineer (DE) took personal interest in getting this shift done and was there throughout the process of undo-ing the previous transaction and creating a new request.
We were told that we would get a message saying the porting was complete. That would be the time we'd have to put the new SIM. Vodafone would have to provide a bill for the usage during this time.

The MNP isn't complete yet. I will try to update this portion with all the new challenges that surface from this facility for which no operator really seems ready.

Update (22-Jan-2011 6:30 p.m):
The 2nd Porting request was also rejected by Vodafone for the same reason - 'Contractual obligations'. The Customer care agent first tells bill aren't paid. But we had received a message on negative balance remaining, which implied excess amount was paid for unbilled usage too. The agent then says that the porting can only be done at the end of the billing cycle, Feb 15, a complete departure from the prescribed rules of MNP. On informing the agent about the procedure told by the previous customer representative, she springs a surprise saying, "What are the credentials of that representative? I am designated to provide the correct information on MNP". After a heated exchange of words the customer representative has promised to call on 24 January, 2011 at 12 noon to let us know how to proceed with the MNP.
On the side of BSNL, their employee seems to have erroneously swapped two of the 5 UPS codes causing further complications.

Update (24-Jan-2011 4:00 p.m):
We have spoken to 4 different customer executives, noted down their credentials too and none of them are clear on the process required from their end to complete the MNP. All of them ask for a couple of hours and never respond. Status quo remains.

Update (25-Jan-2011 12:15 p.m):
We've spoken to more than a dozen Vodafone officials and all of them are unclear of the processes involved. The boss is frustrated explaining the problem to every employee that calls. The designated 'Relationship Manager' for our accounts is trying to lure us away from leaving by suggesting competitive offers. It shows they've still not begun their end of MNP transfer.

Update (27-Jan-2011 1:00 p.m):
On 25th, I put a Tweet on this problem and pointed to this blogpost. Did the same on Vodafone's Facebook page. In an hour's time I got a call from Vodafone saying they had read the tweet. The same story was narrated and the person promised to send over some executives to our office to sort out the problem. By 6 p.m, the relationship manager and his senior, after a few more attempts at keeping us with them, finally said that the MNP from their end was completed. It was too late to get back to BSNL and 26th was a holiday.
Today, at BSNL, the previous order was cancelled and created again. We await to see when the MNP process is completed.

Update (2-Feb-2011 3:00 p.m):
2 of the 5 numbers have got ported successfully to BSNL. SMS was received on those numbers that Porting would happen at 10:30 p.m previous night. SIM was changed and Vodafone's SIM stopped working, but BSNL's SIM wouldn't work. At 3 p.m today the BSNL SIM started working. The other 3 numbers are to be ported tonight.

Update (3-Feb-2011 6:00 p.m):
The remaining 3 numbers have been ported to BSNL successfully too. Vodafone turned off their service at around 7 a.m this morning. BSNL service wouldn't work all day. After making a call, in an hour's time, the remaining 3 numbers have become active.

Introspection

2011-01-20T13:20:00.002+05:30

He looked at his suit and flicked off the invisible fleck of dust on his shoulder. Picked up his monocle, fixed it on his eye and stared at me. "Are you an honest man, Comrade PSudhamshu?" he asked. I got startled. His question shook something within me. Since when did mirrors become so perceptive?

For the uninitiated, the character mentioned above is one of my favourite P.G. Wodehouse character, PSmith. PSmith, with the 'P' silent, was known to get into trouble for doing outrageous acts. He would extract himself out of it with ease using his eloquence and exaggerated inexplicable explanations. In many ways, I've turned out to be like him. But that eloquence is not something I possess. This post has something to do with social networking and how I found myself in a terrible fix that led me to do some introspection.

Acceptance of addiction

(I flicked out my cellphone and start tapping)
Aunt: Are you on Twitter again?
(I bared my teeth to sport an embarrassed grin and got back to the cellphone)
Aunt: You're on a vacation! You have people here to talk to. Put it away!
(I hid the cellphone. Completed and posted the tweet when she wasn't looking. I think she knew it anyway)

The addiction wasn't new. I acknowledged it's existence earlier. I tried working on it to an extent, but using the tool to do a shameful act was the final straw. I had misused the tool. It led me to realise how I allowed it to change me in so many unknown ways. Hunting for limelight, exaggerating things, ignoring purity of a language and reducing my attention span to that of a child. It needs to change.

Abstinence
I don't intend to convey a feeling that Twitter or Facebook are evil. They are mere tools. Some of the best ones available if you want to learn something interesting in a huge variety of topics, every day. But there are invisible lines which when run over turn it into an addiction to the point of embarrassment and shame. It is then that you have to introspect its actual utility. To find out how I can use it effectively, I've decided to abstain from most forms of Social networking. There was a reason why I joined them in the first place. All I could achieve through them in these years have only been like a scrape on the periphery of what I intended to achieve. I wish to go deeper.

Are you quitting writing too?
Eh? What? Even if Dostoyevsky were to come out of his grave and call me Chetan Bhagat, I wouldn't stop writing. Writing has been one of those hobbies that gives me boundless joy on the prospect of probing the mysterious and discovering the fascinating. I wouldn't quit it. But even in Photography, I sometimes get so caught in the technicalities (Aperture, Exposure, ISO, Light, Composition, Accessories) that I forget the raw passion I used to feel when I first began clicking. So I take a break. Stay away from the camera for some time until that urge to click is back. With writing too I've been dwelling too much on things like Grammar, writing styles, punctuations, ambiguity, intended meaning, reader's comprehension and so many other things that I have this feeling of emptiness. Time for a break.

So what will you do?
The first thing that struck me when I decided on the abstinence was that I would have enormous amount of time at my hand. It was almost scary. But then I look back a few years ago and in my head I can hear Pearl Jam sing,

Even Flow, thoughts arrive like butterflies.
Oh, he don't know. So he chases them away.

(Oh! How lucky you are, not to hear me sing!) There were so many things to do back then and so little time. I'm going to give them a try again. Astronomy (Star gazing), Reading books (Physics), Photography, Movies and TV Series, discovering Music (Grooveshark --> Select Artist --> Sort by popularity --> listen to Top 10). I'm even thinking of pushing my exercise regime a few notches and get those rock hard abs I always wanted as a teenager. (in Hugh Grant's voice) "Whoopsie Daisies! I promised not to exaggerate!"

What about this blog?
You know that friend that listens to everything you have to say without judging you for your thoughts? Always approachable? This blog does that. Of course, a best friend would be the one who would judge you, point out your flaws and help you correct them. But the ego always takes over at some point. So this blog shall be the virtual friend that listens patiently to what I think. The Yes man, if you may call it.

You agree blog? "Yes".
You will not judge me. "Yes".
Even if you get plenty of hits. "Yes".
I am the greatest blogger of all times. "Yes".
You're just too stupid, aren't you? "Yes".
(sigh)

"A cry goes around the Internet, PSudhamshu is incommunicado."

There, it's fixed

2010-12-20T15:21:00.000+05:30

Caller: "Hello?"
I: "Yeah. Tell me."
Caller (louder): "Hello? Is this Sudhamshu?"
I (Louder): "Yes."
Caller (still louder): "Hello? Hello? HELLO? (abuses)"
click

For strange reasons, the past week was filled with similar conversations, over and over again. I blamed the network coverage, my service provider, the caller's service provider and everything else when I heard those abuses. Everything except my own cellphone. I like to be in the denial mode when it comes to things that I love. This Nokia N78 being the first phone I bought with my own money was no different. It took some more abusive behaviour from callers who could only hear static instead of my beautiful voice that made me realise the truth. My phone wasn't working. (Did you think I'd admit I don't have a beautiful voice?!)

A visit to the Nokia authorised service centre proved dismal. After getting an electronically generated service request, I sat awaiting my interview with a service agent. When the call finally came, I felt like a prison convict facing his lawyer. That's how they make you sit. I told about the problem with the microphone and all the guy did was call another person and find out a price. "It will be Rs. 2,600/-. We'll change the whole keypad and you'll get the phone by tomorrow 3 p.m". His trust in my judgement not withstanding, I was surprised that he wouldn't test the problem. The resale value of the phone might not be so high, so I grabbed back my beloved and went away.

A new phone would have to be purchased. Questions were asked. A bit of (re)search was done. The popular choice from the polls surfaced to be a Samsung Galaxy S. A phone that is costlier than a netbook. I had my heart set on it. Gadgets cloud my analytical abilities, much like teenage boys behave in front of pretty girls. There I was on my way, the back of my head singing Sepultura's "Refuse/Resist", to replace this old love with a new infatuation when I came across a tiny cubicle of a shop whose board seemed bigger than the shop itself. A blog post I read by Shekhar Kapur on his Blackberry crossed my mind and I stopped instantly to make inquiries.

Hardly, 100 sq.ft in size, manned by 2 people, I inquired if they were proficient in the business of fixing hearts of gadget lovers. Yes, came the reply and I passed on my phone explaining the problem. Test was performed and the prognosis was accurate. "Rs. 400/- for changing the microphone", said the man. A leap could be felt in the deeper confines, but I wouldn't allow it to be shown to him. "It's costly. You can't do anything else?", I asked. "No. Microphone is on the board. We'll heat it and remove it delicately. Use a new one and solder it to the board. Rs. 400/- it will be". A fake sigh of resignation and handing over of the phone happened.

I sat in that dinghy little shop looking around at phones being sold. GFive, NKTel and other unheard brands with phone models that looked strikingly similar to popular brands were on display. The shop's board suggested it could be Korean phones, the boxes seem to suggest they were Chinese. To dispel any of my worries, the playlist in the shop's music system began playing Alisha Chinnai's "Made in India". I don't know if he used a new microphone or a salvaged one, but when the phone came back to me, it worked. "Can you hear me?", I asked the boss for the test call. "Loud and clear. Come back to office quick, you slacker.", came the reply. A job well done. Money was parted with. The old love had a new voice and it was pocketed.

I come to office and see that the keypad is jutting out. The edges seem all jagged. Signs of bad surgery. Oh, the horror! A Rs. 5/- worth Fevikwik was purchased to glue the keypad and after some more tests there finally was relief. The story has larger implications on design of products and the service capabilities of bigger shops, but it is part another debate. The phone is working again. If you still hear a static when you call, fret not, it's just me being rude to you. You don't deserve my beautiful voice.

The soul speaks out

2010-12-13T21:39:00.005+05:30

I used to sleep soundly. I used to dream without effort. I'd turn off the lights, lay down on the bed, close my eyes and sleep would take over me. I allowed it that power. I would wake up whenever it would release me. It was possibly using my body to nourish itself. I couldn't care less what it used me for. I wouldn't even attempt to recollect any memories of it. I would wake up with a blank mind. Ready to accept anything that came my way. I never felt sad at that crying man who would tell me stories of his struggle with money. I never felt that tinge in my heart when that guy cried over my shoulder on losing his love. I never gave them what they wanted. I never felt what they felt. I understood everything they were saying. They called me heartless. I was called inhumane. I left them all. I had no remorse. I could never feel any love within me. I could never feel hate within me. Yes. I always knew they were similar feelings. I never allowed them to change me from what I was. If happiness is what you call the feeling of being in peace with yourself, then I was happy.

But they told me I was the saddest person they had ever met. A man with a heart of stone. It melted that day. I couldn't take it anymore. It was too much for me to endure. I could take one man's harangue. They attacked me together. Lectures on societal behaviour were delivered. Appeals to morality were made. Begging for a drop of remorse was done. I allowed it all to get through to me. It went deep inside of me into the softest of places I had ever known. It changed me. I willed that change. To be different. From who I was. I wanted to be like them now. One with them. Yet another man in the gargantuan crowd of emulators. Those were the only kind they accepted into their society. I gave away that heart to a broken heart. I wanted to mend it. I did it so I could be considered humane. One of them. One of you. That heart was fixed. It enjoyed all the attention I showered on it to get it fixed. It moved on. Just like you forget about your doctor when you are no longer sick. How do you think the Doctor felt?

I turn off all the lights. I drape my sheets from head to toe. I hear the deafening silence around me in this darkness. The sleep doesn't arrive anymore. It tortures me to call it with a clearer mind. It doesn't need my body anymore. I give money to that distressed man. He thanks me, but I can see through him. He is still not happy. He will never be happy. I feel exactly how my friend felt when he lost his love. But I don't go to find his shoulder. I am enjoying myself. I allowed them to change me. I willed this to happen. I am responsible for this. This feeling of dejection is refreshing. It gives me clarity. In the most pure of all thoughts in the blankest my mind ever was, I realised a profound truth. I was a fool. It showed me how hollow you all were. How hollow you have made me. I was wrong. I was wrong in letting you convince me that I was insane. Insane is what I am right now.

You ask me how I feel? This is how I feel. You ask me to speak my thoughts? This is how I think. You call me dumb. You can't understand any of my thoughts. You wish that I would write in a structured manner. With words that you would understand. That is not how I think. That is not how I feel. Neither do you. I realise I am far intelligent than you give me credit. And you ask me to dumb down myself so that I can share these profound insights with you. You read this and you realised that I touched some nerve within you. You realised that I was speaking of some truth so deep enough that you could never reach it with your intellect. And now you want me to share that idea in words that you will understand. I won't do that. You laugh as you read this. I can hear it. I can hear you think that I write as if I were drunk. I don't need your alcohol to be like this. I don't drape my head with your societal instincts that make you behave like a perfect human. I am your perfect imperfection. And I always live in this state. I will not dumb down to your levels. You call me proud? I am more humble than you could ever imagine. You want me to name my emotions. You want me to name my experiences. You want me to name names. I give you something which is deeper than that. I bear my soul in front of you. Can you do that? No. You are too afraid to open up. And yet you are proud enough to call me arrogant. But here is the thing. I will tell all. I will put everything in words you can comprehend. You want stories, don't you? That is how you understand ideas. I will give you a story. I will give you a whole novel on it.

It is the prologue of my upcoming novel.