Devil's Workshop

Once Upon A Campus

2025-03-30T15:40:00.002+05:30

[Penned this piece for the Alumni Column in the As We Are magazine (April 2025) released by SVNIT Surat]

Once Upon A Campus

By: R. Kailasham | Now: Assistant Professor, Department of Chemical Engineering, IIT Indore | Always: U09CH153

I took a flight from Indore to Surat on 6^th October 2024. I subsequently boarded the BRTS bus from the airport to SVNIT main gate. Neither of the above sentences would have been true in 2013, the year I graduated from SVNIT. A chance meeting with Team RENESA on campus the next day led to a podcast and this article. Here is what I would like to share with all my juniors on campus:

When Moses freed the Jewish people who had been enslaved by the Pharoah of Egypt, they did not immediately reach their Promised Land upon crossing the Red Sea. It took about 40 years of wandering through the desert, before they could fully rejoice in their freedom. Along the way they figured out their own identity, responsibilities, and rules for self-governance. I cannot think of a better metaphor to describe the four-year transition period from school student to engineering graduate.

Follow your true north. In my case, it was thermodynamics. I had two departmental electives worth of this subject and when an elective was being offered in the Mechanical Engineering department, I jumped at the opportunity. I followed the trail of thermodynamics and statistical mechanics whenever I could, so much so that my research career is built on these topics.

To know what your true north, you need to be acutely perceptive of your own gut feelings and instinct. Stay away from anything that numbs or dulls your sense of perception. As a corollary, develop a thick skin. Learn to distinguish between the criticism of your well-wishers, and that of those who seek to belittle you.

Learn to cook. Learn to drive. Get a drivers’ license. Read Murakami and Huxley. Explore the city by bus. Learn at least a few lines of Gujarati. Visit the Narmad Central Library. Probe the edges of your comfort zone.

The phrase “alma mater” literally means “nourishing mother” and is an indicator of the best possible use of your time in the institute. Plant a fragment of a dream while you are within the walls of the insti, and watch it multiply a hundredfold. I started a blog in my second year of college, and the material I wrote since then became the core of the short-story collection “No Stranger Conversations” that I published nearly eight years after my graduation.

To the ones graduating this summer: the world is an ocean of conditional love, in which you would be lucky to find an island of unconditional love. Cherish whoever belongs on that island. The world owes you nothing. You are now a link in a golden chain that stretches both ways in time: from the inception of the institute to the as yet uninitiated students. Keep the chain intact by giving without being asked and receiving without hesitation.

Disclaimer: The views expressed in the article are solely subjective, and do not represent the opinions of the author's employer.

Writing from the Heart (land)

2024-11-09T12:33:00.000+05:30

"Post-mortem ho gaya? main aa raha hoon" (Is the post-mortem done? I am on my way there).

Bus M-19 picks you up from Simrol and goes all the way to Tantya Bhel Circle in Indore City. At least, that is the name of the final destination that is printed on the ticket. The destination is more popularly known as Bhawar Kua, which is the name printed on the bus. The ride costs 30 rupees. I was seated next to a man in a blue shirt whose head was turned towards the window. He was coughing, with his. head turned towards the window, for almost the entire duration of the 60-minute journey. Towards the end of the journey, he received a phone call. His response to whatever was said on the phone was: "Post-mortem ho gaya? main aa raha hoon" (Is the post-mortem done? I am on my way there). I have never heard these words spoken in real-life by anyone.

How thin is the line between stupidity and malice? Hanlon's razor suggests that we never ascribe to malice what can be sufficiently explained by stupidity. What about wilful ignorance, though? How thin of a line separates gaslighting from malice?

Had a pizza called "Hell Boy" at the Martino'z outlet at Ashok Nagar. On my way back, I noticed a food-delivery vehicle with the words "Save Tomato, order [company that rhymes with Tomato]". I wondered how difficult is it really to be a copy-writer at one of these companies? Isn't it much easier to drive people towards laziness than away from it?

How on earth do people maintain dream diaries? Recording your dream on paper after waking up is like transferring water by the handful.

I have been thinking a lot lately about the philosophical question about a tree dropping in an unpopulated forest. The question goes like if nobody is around to hear it, does it make a sound? Sure, sound is a longitudinal wave and propagates through alternate compression and rarefaction of air. Of course, a tree dropping creates a sound. But if no one is around to hear it, then the apt question would probably be: "Does the sound from the falling tree matter?"

There is an inherent value to an object or an event, and there is perceived value, which is the sticker put on it by market forces. It is difficult to judge the former, but fairly easy to look and discern the latter. One believes, hopes rather, that the two are correlated.

Why is gold valuable? Because everybody says so. I cannot find too many arguments for what makes gold inherently valuable. It is an amazing conductor of electricity and it would be great to have it in all our electronic devices. However, we are prevented from doing that because the market for ornamental gold is probably much larger than the market for consumer goods gold.

Where I am going with this is: you can set your own standards and live up to them, thereby gaining the respect and validation of your own conscience. However, it is foolish to expect external validation and approval for acts that you consider achievements according to your own standards. Universal acclaim requires meeting and exceeding universal standards.

What made me write a blog post after so long? Incidentally it was an instrumental theme by a new composer, Sai Abhyankar. Link given here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L8wI0uac_8c

These are the tighest I have heard since Sivamani jammed with AR Rahman. The most fun/addictive theme song in Tamil cinema since Kaththi, Jailer and Master. Also, Sai, is the son of singers Tippu and Harini. How fast time flies!

Indian 2: Movie Review

2024-07-16T16:39:00.001+05:30

Why did I want to watch Indian 2? Because I, like many a 90s kid, is a diehard Shankar fan, and am keen to listen to consume that the man has to offer on the big screen.

A few caveats before I dig in: it is an order of magnitude easier to criticise some one else's work than it is to produce something of your own. Secondly, the Indian 2 project appears to have been cursed since its inception. First announced in 2017, various production houses were touted to be associated with the film, before it ended up being jointly produced by two companies. At least one technician had died during the production of this movie. The pandemic intervened. At least four actors who acted in the movie did not live to see it releasing in the theatres.

I have always viewed Shankar as a hallmark of creativity and originality. Be it the use of clay dolls as a part of the dance sequence in Muthalvan, or painting a whole village in Anniyan, or capturing the seven wonders of the world in Jeans, the audience were always in for a grand surprise. Phrases from the movie have ended up being used as inspirations for movie titles and songs. Think Jil Jang Jak and Jalabula Jang. So I was surprised at the numerous throwbacks to Shankar's old movies and self-referencing in Indian 2. Such gimmicks are OK when done with a wink of the eye, but in this movie they seem to exist because the creative minds couldn't find any new ways of expression.

Kamal Hassan reprises the role of Senapathi, a patriot who hears the hashtag-driven alarm cries of a dissatisfied nation, and returns to India to dish out punishment to corrupt politicians and bureaucrats.

Insipid dialogues

Who can forget the "5 paisa thirudina thappa?" and "saagara naal therinja vaazhara naal naragamaayidum" from Shankar's movies of old? Sujatha's crisp writing was often the lifeline for the script bringing characters to life, making them jump out of the screen. Granted, replacing someone of his stature is not possible. Nonetheless, Shankar did do a decent job with getting decent dialogues for the Enthiran movies and I. In this movie, despite roping in Jeyamohan, Kabila Vairamuthu and Lakshmi Saravanakumar, the dialogues fall flat on their face. Something must have been off, because the dialogues crafted by Jeyamohan and team in Ponniyin Selvan crackle with life and wit.

Varma Kalai deserved more hype

In Shankar's Anniyan, the back story of Garuda Puranam is explained crisply and clearly, further heightening the audience's fear of the unknown and keeping them invested in the script. The writing team of Indian 2 seemed to have imagined that everyone in the audience would remember the nuanced art of Varma Kalai as seen in the first instalment. Except for a brief comment in a raspy voice by Kamal Hassan about this martial art form being introduced by Agathiyar (the ancient Indian sage), no further hype of the art form is provided.

We could have benefited from fewer CGIs of paralyzed nerves and blocked arteries, and a few more minutes of intelligent description about this cool martial art technique.

Complete lack of a comedy track

That's it. I cannot elaborate further without feeling physically hurt.

Complete lack of romance

In almost all Shankar movies that have a vigilante theme, there is always a credible love story built around the protagonist. A few of the best songs even in such movies are of the duet variety. Ottagathai Kattiko, Uppu Karuvaadu, Kurukku Siruthavale, and Telephone Manipol all spring to mind. The romantic scenes in these movies also tend to be in good taste. The lyrics from these songs tend to remain in popular culture long after the movie has left the theatres.

Indian 2 has practically no romantic track. Are we supposed to view the Siddharth-Priya Bhavani Shankar relationship as purely platonic? They seem to have so much in common. There is a palpable lack of chemistry between Siddharth and Rakul Preet Singh.

Soundtrack

I probably do not need to expend too many words stressing the importance of a strong background score in burnishing a message/mood/moment into the minds of the cinema audience. Raghuvaran's menace is superbly amplified by AR Rahman's BGM in Kaadhalan. The mystery and allure of Anniyan owes a lot to Harris's score. Kaipullai's antics in Winner is made all the more memorable by Yuvan Shankar Raja's background score. I found the soundtrack to be a disappointment; completely devoid of spice and about as toothless as the jewel-encrusted tortoise that appears early on in the movie. The same composer had given us Vikram, a swash-buckling ride in which the roar of the audience blended made the BGM sound even better.

Iconography

A commonly used screenwriting tool for introducing the good guy in a Hollywood movie is to him commit a small act of kindness (like saving a cat from a tree) early on in the movie. In Indian 2, the fraudulent health inspector, the corrupt registrar, and the greedy business magnate all sport the Hindu tilak or vibhuti on their forehead. I am wondering what angle the directorial team is going for here.

The righteous cop on the tail of Senapati sports an afterthought of a vibhuti streak on his forehead, and asks his father to "bless" him. The use of the English word in place of the more obvious word "aaseervaadham" seems forced, jarring, and unnatural.

Positives

I have seen so many Tamil movies based in Chennai, movies that were shot in the city long before it was called Madras. I do not recall ever seeing a scene that features characters rowing a boat and sporting the Madras Boat Club's uniform. Trust Shankar to innovate even in a city that has been heavily covered in Kollywood.

Thumb Ramaiah and Renuka are standout performers adding a ton of credibility to their respective roles. Siddharth pulls off the role of a helpless common man almost effortlessly. The build up to SJ Suryah's character is captivating. His name drew the loudest cheers as the beginning credits rolled on screen, second probably only to the Ulaganaayagan's. Easily one of the main reasons that would make me want to watch the third instalment in this series.

Verdict

As my cousin brother, father and I were preparing to walk to back to the theatre with our snack purchases during the intermission, I heard the person in charge of writing the canteen menu speak the following to a movie-goer:

"Intha padam Shankar edutha maathiri theriyala, assistant directors vaichu eduthirukaar"

This does not seem to be a movie directed by Shankar; he seems to have completed this using his assistant directors

I couldn't have articulated my feelings about the movie better.

There is an Indian 3 in the offering, which cannot be understood if you do not watch this movie. If you were born before 1996, you probably do not need convincing to watch this movie. If not, you might do well to watch the first instalment before watching this movie. It takes enormous amount of courage and commitment to bring a project of this scale to a close when faced with so many difficulties. Hats off to that, and I wish the entire team of the movie better luck in their upcoming projects.

Dunki: movie review

2023-12-25T00:49:00.004+05:30

My wife, a major Shah Rukh Khan fan, and I watched his latest movie "Dunki" in theatres yesterday. The fact that it is a Raj Kumar Hirani directorial had increased our anticipation for the movie. By Thursday evening, we had booked our tickets for the Saturday morning show and made our lunch plans. More on the latter, later.

The movie traces the journey of 4 friends from India who cross literal and figurative hurdles to emigrate to the UK, and find that they must undertake a similarly arduous journey to return to their home country. SRK plays the protagonist, an army man who is swept along by the tide of events that unfolds when he visits Laltu, a Punjabi village. Tapsee Pannu delivers a powerful and convincing performance as his love interest.

There is a truism in show-business that it is far easier to make people cry than to make them laugh. SRK manages to guide the audience through both these emotions with near-equal ease. A drunk SRK delivers a monologue about NRI boys taking away the girls of Punjab, as the local boys are left without potential brides. That the lines are delivered by someone who played an NRI boy in DDLJ was a bit of tasteful irony that my wife and I laughed about.

There are a couple of scenes in which the veteran director seems to have run out of interesting dialogues, and resorts to tired-tropes (we see a variant of "Waiter, there's a fly in my soup" and it is hard not to cringe). These are minor blips in an otherwise taut screenplay that never sags or lulls for a moment.

Vicky Kaushal appears to have soaked the essence of his character in every fibre of his being. He is the center of attention in every frame that he appears. There is a scene where he and SRK are shown to be recovering after a hangover in the English classroom, which is staged and shot beautifully. Could we take this to be symbolic of a passing of the baton? One could imagine.

The ending left me feeling that I had just watched a Russian novel brought to life on screen. Of course, other Raj Kumar Hirani movies also have elements of sadness and death as a part of the screenplay (think the drone-designer in 3 Idiots) but one always leaves the theatre in an upbeat mode. By choosing to end the movie this movie, I feel that the director has compromised on the re-watchability of the movie. That being said, lack of re-watchability is a far lighter offence than lack of watchability. For perspective: I found "Dunki" to be immensely more watchable than "Pathaan". In "Dunki", the protagonist is far from perfect, as vulnerable as you or me, and yet finds the strength to keep going despite all else.

There is a scene set in the UK where SRK accuses Balli (played by Anil Grover) of projecting a life of prosperity to his friends back in India, while living in near-penury in reality. This is the sort of scene where actors from a different era would have gone on a preachy monologue. In this case, Balli fires back an emotional response that completely floors SRK and leaves him speechless. This is one of the most visceral portrayals of vulnerability in a protagonist that I have seen in a long time. The closest I can compare this to is Vijay's meltdown in "Kaththi".

Pritam's music and background score are soothing without being conspicuous. Boman Irani shines through and through. His teaming up with SRK to hoodwink the police in Saudi Arabia is fresh and funny.

Could the movie have ended on a different note? I ruminated over the question even as my wife and I made ourselves comfortable at a buffet place. Several dosas and cups of masala chai later, I emerged slowly out of the reverie induced by the movie. One could either feel crushed by the nihilistic silliness of life, or learn to laugh at its face. SRK shows the way forward in this movie, in a stoic manner reminiscent of a famous descendant on the Ikshvaku dynasty.

Veera (1994) : a retro movie review

2022-12-03T06:58:00.004+05:30

This blog post highlights a few of my observations while watching Veera, a yester-year classic starring Rajinikanth, Meena and Roja supported by a fantastic ensemble cast. Suresh Krissna is the director, while Panchu Arunachalam has handled the dialogues and also penned the lyrics for a couple of songs. Ilaiyaraja has composed the songs for this movie, which remains his last project with Rajini till date.

I sought out this movie because I wanted to watch a 90s Thalaivar flick that was slightly off-beat from the rags to riches masala fare. Rajini's comic timing is in full display throughout the film. There is less emphasis on action, and more focus on sentiment, and dramatic tension that is resolved with the lightest of touches.

Vadivukkarasi, who is about seven years younger than Rajini, plays the role of his widowed mother with aplomb. Vivek appears for about half the movie as Rajini's comic sidekick, and Livingstone is one of the antagonists. These four actors would unite again in 13 years for Sivaji- The Boss.

The story of the movie is inspired by a 1992 Telugu flick. Rajini leads a carefree life in the village, where he falls in love with Devi (played by Meena), the daughter of a music teacher. Wanting to gain her attention by any means possible, he decides to learn music under the tutelage of Meena's father. He masters the craft quite ably, and also secures the love of the girl. Circumstances dictate that he earn Rs. 1 Lakh at the earliest, in order to return the loan that his family owed the village landlord. Meena tells him about a music competition in Chennai with an attractive prize amount. Rajini departs the village with a heavy but determined heart. He promises that he would win the competition and return to the village to formally take her hand in marriage.

It might be worth mentioning at this juncture that Rajini's character is named "Muthuveerappan", and he is known amongst his village peers as "Muthu." He runs into Senthil upon arrival Chennai, who suggests that he use the name Veera while auditioning for the music competition. Thus, we have two identities for the protagonist. Rajini's chemistry with Senthil is electric. I think this combo worked better, and had more memorable hits than Rajini-Goundamani. Senthil remains a loyal companion to the protagonist throughout the movie.

Getting an entry into the music competition itself seems a Herculean task for Veera and his sidekick. They manage to do so through the intervention of Roopa (played by Roja), the daughter of the audio cassette company owner (played by the inimitable Janagaraj) that has organized the competition.

Veera aces the competition, singing a song that Devi had taught him, also inadvertently gaining the affection of Roopa in the process. He returns home to the village immediately with the prize money, to settle the loan and marry Devi. While the first of the goals is easily realized, he learns that Devi and her father had perished in a flood whilst he was away in the city. He mopes about in desolation, before his mother suggests that he go back to Chennai to make a living. Throughout the movie, Rajini plays the obedient son, acceding to all his mother's wishes. In a way, he has foreseen the role that Jim Carrey would play in "Yes Man" (2008).

The identity of Muthu and the village behind him, Veera migrates to Chennai with his mother, and begins a successful career as a singer and composer. There is a song set as a dream sequence, featuring Veera and Roopa, in which Roja's costume selection is raunchy, to say the least. Vaali's lyrics are about as direct as you could possibly get in a suggestive song. As you would expect, things fall in place, with Veera and Roopa getting married. Veera's hesitation and his doubts about whether he would overcome the memory of Devi succumb in the face of Vadivukkarasi's pragmatism and warm cajoling.

The turning point in the movie arrives when it is revealed that while the flood had taken the life of Devi's father, she had survived with minor head injuries. She comes to Chennai looking for her Muthu, and meets him at a point when Roopa has flown to the USA with her dad for the latter's heart surgery. Vadivukkarasi learns about this development and is heartbroken for having persuaded Rajini to marry Roopa. Rajini's stoically responds that he has not wilfully harmed anyone. Of course, if Rajini confesses to Devi the truth at this point, there would be no scope for conflict, and he would have retained the moral high ground. Cognisant of her fragile mental condition, however, he doesn't turn her away, and instead arranges a house for her in the city. He now becomes a two-timing husband. He is also afraid to admit the truth to Roopa upon her return from the States. This is where the protagonist's idealistic demeanour takes a beating.

The cat eventually gets out of the bag, and the climax scene, with the resolution of the two-women conundrum, seems forced and trite. The suspension of disbelief becomes a difficult exercise, even for invested viewers. This does not, however, ruin what is a thoroughly entertaining movie.

There is an interesting scene where Rajini has to face up to the two ladies in a temple, as his mother watches on in the background. The question put before him is apparently simple and predictable: does he choose the woman he first fell in love with, and the one who inspired him to excel in music, or his legally wedded wife who is crazy about him, and who ensured that his talent met with the opportunity that it deserved?

The final scene in the movie is straight out of fantasy, with both the ladies agreeing to live with Rajini, at his house in the village. Please spare me the how and why. The movie ends with the word "Thodarum" (to be continued) splashed across the screen. Didn't Suresh Krishna's "Baba" also end in a similar fashion?

Rajini's iconic one-liner "How is it?" is used as a leit motif throughout the movie. This is the second in the trilogy of movies that feature Rajini and Meena as the lead pair, sandwiched between "Yejamaan" and "Muthu." Did KS Ravi Kumar get the inspiration for Muthu's title from this movie? I would ask him if I ever met him.

Isaignani's songs, particularly, "Konji Konji", "Malaikovil Vaasalil", and "Maadathile", appear at the right moments in the movie and steal the heart away.

An absolute feel-good movie that further establishes Rajini's role as a premier entertainer.

The Fabelmans (2022): movie review

2022-12-03T06:58:00.003+05:30

I knew I would be spending the extended Thanksgiving weekend in the Squirrel Hill neighbourhood of Pittsburgh. As I strolled past "The Manor" theatre on Thursday evening, I noticed that a movie by Steven Spielberg was playing. I knew that I had to catch it: I had never seen any of his movies in the theatre before. I wanted to buy a ticket for the Friday evening show. Surely the theatre wouldn't be open today? As I stepped towards the sliding doors, I noticed a sign that asked patrons to step right in behind the counter in case they wanted to purchase tickets. I obeyed incredulously and walked in. Behind the counter, in the food-court area, the employees of the theatre were enjoying their Thanksgiving dinner together. I had not expected this. One of them stepped out when he saw me, and I had gotten myself tickets for the following evening.

The theatre was about three-quarters full for the 6.45 PM show the next day. The very first scene of the movie shows Burt Fabelman (played by Paul Dano) and his wife Mitzi (Michelle Williams) trying to convince their ten-year-old son, Samuel (Gabriel LaBelle) to not be afraid of the dark, and enter the movie theatre with them. These three people are the most important characters in the movie. Burt talks up the scientific principles behind cinema, frames per second and the persistence of vision. while Mitzi pitches the experience as being dream-like. This tension between science and art, brain and heart, loyalty and passion, pervades the movie. These three actors also deliver the best performances in the movie, and it would be very hard to rate one above the other. The movie is partly based on the life of the director, which means that by the end of the movie, Samuel is on his way to mark a name for himself in filmmaking, and his parents have divorced.

[Image credits: By Internet Movie Database, Fair use, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?curid=71702334]

Rounding off the family are Sammy's three younger sisters. While the narrative focuses largely on Sam's evolution as a filmmaker, it also does justice to the minor characters in the movie. The writing is brilliant, and in only a few sentences, much is revealed about the personality of his sisters. While this is not central to the movie's theme, it shows the effort invested in making the characters full-fledgedly relatable. The family bounces from New Jersey to Arizona and then California, over the course of the movie. The cinematography brilliantly captures the family's adventures in these various locales.

A consistent feature in Spielberg's movies is the seamless portrayal of the passage of time. This aspect stood out for me in two other movies, Catch Me If You Can and The Terminal, and is in full display here as well. The background score is perky and engaging.

My most memorable scene from the movie is the conversation between Sammy and his great uncle Boris (brother to Sam's maternal grandmother) about art. The family had just moved to Phoenix, Arizona. Boris was visiting them while grieving the death of his sister. Every line delivered by Boris is an event in itself, but the following exchange stands out for me. Boris has just told Sam that he used to work in the circus, making his way from being the guy who had to shovel elephant poop to being the star performer entrusted with sticking his head into the jaws of a lion.

Sam: Sticking your head inside the mouth of a lion is art?

Boris: No, sticking the head takes balls. The art is in not getting your head chomped off.

The Fabelmans move to Northern California at a time when Sam's in high school. Sam faces and overcomes anti-semitic taunts at school by standing up to the bullies. He is terrified at first because he has not faced hatred of this sort before. His love for film makes him forget all else. Along the way, he falls into his first serious relationship, with Monica, his schoolmate.

One quibble stood out for me at this point: everyone near and dear to Samuel calls him Sammy, and he is never once seen to protest this form of address. He however objects to being called so by Monica, and insists that she call him Sam, instead. On prom night, he confesses that he loves her, and asks if she would abandon her plans to go to Texas A&M for college, and would join him instead as he tries his fortune in Hollywood. She rejects him summarily, returning the necklace that he had gotten for her as a gift. He takes the breakup reasonably well, and is even seen laughing with his mother about it. What I did not understand then, and still do not, is how he could object to being called "Sammy" by someone he was hoping to marry.

The last five minutes of the movie involve an interaction between Sam and a legendary movie director. The director offers him a few words of advice about the positioning of the camera. Sam is beyond thrilled with the conversation he has just had, and in the last scene, is seen to be dancing away happily from the media house where the interaction had happened. We see this from a particular camera angle, before, tongue firmly in cheek, Spielberg adjusts the angle so that it agrees with what the legendary director had just suggested. This endearing bit of playfulness is recurrent in the movie, as in all of Spielberg's works that I have watched.

Burt plays the role of a dutiful father and a husband who knows only to give and give. He is sincere to a fault, and in his wife's words to their son, "can kill you with kindness." She acknowledges that Burt is kind to her even when she is mean to him, inattentive to his attempts at humour, cold and distant, as if she is always preoccupied by something or someone else. She is shown to genuinely make an attempt at being a dutiful wife and a mother, but after several years of marriage, she finds that she is not upto the task.

The strain of unreciprocated love and attention stretches Burt to breaking point at several instances along the story, as he tears up in frustration. His immensely successful engineering career, and the love and warmth shown by his children, help him overcome the sadness brought into his life by his wife, or that is what it appears to the viewers. Paul Dano has put in a stellar performance. He is also the deliverer of my favourite line in the movie, which he utters in response to a ten-year old Sammy claiming that he loves the expensive toy train set that his father has bought for him despite being caught in the act of trying to take it apart. Burt chides him firmly, but softly, insisting that "You can't just love something. You have to also take care of it". By the time the end credits roll, you realise that that quote is a distillation of his life's guiding principle.

Equally stunning is Michelle Williams as Mitzi. Her expressive eyes render dialogues unnecessary at several junctures, conveying passion, romance, boredom, and the perfunctory attitude of a woman who is unable to fully reciprocate the love of a man who worships her. It would be simplistic to think that this a mismatch in the amount of love that the two parties in the marriage have for each other. I would say that Burt and Mitzi were never meant to be, and they each realized this only deep into their marriage. Burt, however, is capable of sticking to the terms of the marital contract even under adverse circumstances, while Mitzi's temperament does not allow her to view marriage as a contract, and she is unable to prolong the charade when her heart clearly isn't in it.

The movie made me laugh and think. I would highly recommend catching it while it is still running in the cinemas.

North by Northeast

2022-08-07T00:01:00.001+05:30

"Kashmir?"

"No."

"Andaman?"

"S. and their husband went there for their honeymoon. I am not going there."

"Ooty/Coonnoor?"

"No."

"Dehradun?"

"S. LIVES there!"

Silence from my end, as I was unable to think of anymore honeymoon destinations. Then one day, scrolling through an old Cricinfo scorecard, I thought of a name. I was fairly certain that my wife, Shreemoyee, would approve.

"Dharamshala?"

I could hear the silence and sense the beginnings of a smile. Don't ask me how. That is how intuition works. She went ahead and took care of the hotel bookings, the flight bookings, and the complete itinerary for the two of us. Bless her.

Our trip began on a Monday afternoon in June, and our first destination was Delhi. We took a cab to our hotel near Mahipalpur Circle. I will never forget how the vehicle negotiated its way through Desu Vali Gali, a narrow constriction masquerading as a functioning road. Two-wheelers, four-wheelers, and no-wheelers co-existed in an ever-evolving traffic scene that was in equal parts mesmerising and terrifying. We pulled up to our hotel, and a member of the staff led us to our room. He turned the door handle, and it obediently pulled away from its resting place and nestled itself in his palms. Thankfully that was the only thing broken about the room, and we had a pleasant stay that night.

The next day we caught the flight to Kangra from the Delhi Airport. Cab drivers in Delhi seem to be surprisingly adept at losing their way. It happened twice during our trip and I wondered if the over-reliance on technology was to be blamed for it. Our flight landed in Himachal Pradesh with a definitive bump, and my wife held on to my hand tightly. She would later tell me that she thought that she had reached heaven, only to open her eyes and see me next to her. That is how she knew she was still alive. I would pull her leg and ask if that is how she knew she was not in heaven.

We made our way out of the picture-postcard airport, and headed to Hotel Dharamshala Paradise near Shila Chowk. The bus stops look extremely well-maintained. I couldn't quite judge the frequency of the public transport options, though. We rented a scooter and zoomed around on the hilly roads. We stumbled onto a book cafe, which was essentially a two-storied building. Both the floors stocked several shelves worth of books, and the top floor was where one could order food and beverages. A bunch of students appeared to be ardently preparing for an exam of some sorts on the ground floor. We picked a seat on the top floor balcony, and had scrumptious Maggi, garlic bread and lemonade for lunch. I could see the hills and a parachute wafting lazily in the horizon behind my wife. Her view was dominated by a ruminating cow resting in a partially constructed building behind me.

After a short nap, we set out in the evening with our trusted scooter, in what I consider, in hindsight, to be the scariest ride I have ever been on. I remember us negotiating near-vertical roads enroute McLeod Ganj. I was covered in sweat as we arrived at a cafe called "The Other Space", and I would place the adrenalin rush to be higher than anything that jet-skiing or paragliding could provide. Not that I have done any of these two activities but sometimes intuition helps fill such gaps. Not always, though. We finished dinner by 6 PM or so, and tried to reach back to our hotel rooms before the plush mountain darkness engulfed us.

We hired a cab for the next day, which was reasonably priced at ~ Rs. 2400 for a daylong trip that would have us travel about eighty kilometres on the hills. Our cabbie's name was Rajinder. Our day began with the blessings of the deity at the Bhagsu Nag temple. Our almighty trek to the nearby waterfall ended with us washing our feet in a shallow puddle of cool mountain water. It truly was a hot June in Dharamshala, as folks all around remarked. The way to the waterfall is lined with small shops on either side, serving hot and cold refreshment. We saw old man with a mule transporting goods to several of these roadside shops. We grabbed a lemon soda at one of the shops, as the local radio channel played an Udit Narayan song.

We took a rope-car trip from McLeod Ganj to Dharamshala, and were accompanied by one of the engineers involved in the installation of this service. As our metallic cabin made its silent descent to D'shala, we were met by a couple of employees looking to get answers for a few survey questions. They were delighted to learn that we were PhD grads from IIT Bombay, as the survey questionnaire had also been prepared by IITB.

We were supposed to end the day with a visit to the sunset point at Naddi. Shree and I grabbed a steaming cup of tea by a roadside shop, and were admiring the mountains that filled our horizon, when it began pouring in earnest. We ran back to our car and made our way home quickly, only to be caught in a traffic jam that lasted close to 90 minutes. Hail pelted the windows of the vehicle, as we napped our way through the wait.

The Kaal Chakra Monastery stands out in my memory, amongst all the Buddhist monasteries that we visited during the trip.

Special mention needs to be made about the piping hot parathas and the masala chai served at hotel Dharamshala Paradise. Truly a treat. The same chai at a road side stall could cost anywhere between Rs. 10 and 25. One vendor explained the reason behind the relatively steep price: the milk for the tea comes from Ambala, which is a city in the neighbouring state of Haryana.

For the next leg of the journey, we were headed to Kolkata, to meet my wife's maternal grandparents. Waiting at Kangra airport, Shree spotted an Olympic medalist, carrying a single suitcase, and accompanied by her trainer. Mirabai Chanu delightfully obliged us with a selfie, and soon after, the rest of the waiting lounge queued up to greet her.

It was about 7 PM when we rolled into Grandma's house in Birati, who had taken great troubles to decorate the exterior of the house with serial lighting. As we went in, we were also greeted with a cake on the table with similar lighting. As above, so below! We finished dinner by around 10 PM, and thus fully stuffed with home-cooked goodness, headed off to snooze away our day-long trip weariness.

The sun rises early at this time of the year, and in this part of India. The two us decided to take a walk through the housing colony, which reminded me very much of Cheran Managar in Coimbatore. The various bylanes were named after prominent Indian personalities. I was pleasantly surprised to see a lane named in the honour of Dr. APJ Abdul Kalaam. We ended up having two cups of roadside chais during our walk, and they cost Rs. 5 apiece. This was Shreemoyee's first visit to the place in over 7 years, and she reckons that the neighbourhood hasn't changed a bit in all this time. How does the chai compare to what we had up north? more milky, less masala.

At breakfast that day, we were introduced to Akshir Kaku, a friendly Kolkata local who would be driving us around town for the next couple of days. We began the day by paying our respects to Bipathaadini Devi at her temple, and visited a close family friend who lived nearby. We then set about exploring old Kolkata in all her bazaar-y glory. We strolled through Raja Bazaar and College Street, as street side vendors, recognising a newly married couple, tried to enthusiastically sell us their wares. Their wares consisted mostly of books that would have helped us prepare for college and competitive exams, and we walked past them.

I did want to buy an English translation of the Feluda stories written by Satyajit Ray, and we managed to find one in a bookstore on College Street. We asked the store manager where we could find the Indian Coffee House outlet, and he gestured upwards, telling us that it was directly overhead. My wife tells me that this location is steeped in history, politics and intrigue. Grandma informed us over dinner that night that several Bengali novelists and playwrights would write their material sitting in that very shop. I felt that I had entered the 1950s as I stepped into the cafe. The smell of revolution, and cigarette smoke, hung heavily in the air. We ordered a coffee each, and a bread toast. The caffeine embodiment was top notch.

We visited the Victoria Memorial Building and I was thrilled to see the cover page of my eighth grade history textbook come alive. The interior of the building contained several exhibits and memorabilia from the Indian National Army founded by Netaji. A protest near Eden Gardens meant that we could only see the stadium from outside. We also saw an iconic old tower in Manick Tala, where the clock continues to tick away faithfully.

After lunch, we stepped onto Park Street, where high fashion meets meets pastry shops and fancy tops. We spent about an hour and a half in the Oxford Bookstore. We picked up a few books and headed to the cafe upstairs. Probably the most expensive green tea I have ever had. On the table adjacent to ours were a man and a woman. Relationship Status: unknown and complicated, with the conversation appearing to be largely one-way, the man barely getting a word in sideways, while the woman gave the perfect impersonation of a nuclear reactor: silent, controlled explosion. That's the phrase.

We strolled over to Flury's, a Park Street icon, and packed a couple of vegetarian brownies. The interiors, with their high ceiling and gilded decoration, gave the impression of being in the foyer of a castle. Our next stop was Prinsep Ghat on the Ganga riverfront. There is something deeply contemplative and soothing about staring at a waterfront. Ask anyone who has been to Marina or Juhu Beach. Talk to anyone who has spent hours gazing at the Tapi River. Armed with a paper cone filled with a savoury mix of what looked like corn flakes, lemon-juice tinged onion slices and peanuts, wife and husband found a space on the stairs of the ghat to stare at the river. The river was in a tumultuous mood that night, and had little patience for leisurely boat riders, who were quickly making their way towards the shore.

We got back home to a dinner cooked by Grandma. Grandpa had eaten early and was in bed already. It just struck me how much the place reminded me of my childhood visits to the homes of various aunts in Kerala. We had Himsagar mangoes for dessert, and their taste would surely linger in my memory for a long time. I browsed through the book collection at home, and picked out ``Who moved my Cheese?" for bedtime reading.

Our first destination the next day was the Dakshineshwar Temple. I was as excited about visiting the temple, as I was about crossing the Howrah Bridge. We had hot luchis for breakfast, and headed to Belur Math. The weather had become oppressively hot, and every step seemed like a struggle. The air-conditioned environs of the Swami Vivekanand Museum was a welcome relief: the place housed memorabilia from the great man's life. We knew about the great man's exploits in Chicago, and were surprised to learn that there is a Vivekananda House in California. We dipped our feet in the Ganga river, and stepped outside the complex for a sip of refreshing coconut water. Wife brought a picture of Maa Kali from a roadside vendor for Rs. 20, to take back home to Sirumugai. That is so reasonably priced, I thought. Divinity is within a hand's reach here.

We decided to concede the morning session to the sun, and headed back home for lunch and siesta. The evening seemed less oppressive and we headed to New Town which basically translates to new money. It is more reminiscent of the Sheikh Zayed road in Dubai than Navi Mumbai. We had fun looking around a wax museum. She got a picture clicked with Shah Rukh Khan; while I joined Audrey Hepburn at a breakfast table and had my photo taken. The two structures that I clearly remember from the nighttime skyline are ITC Sonar Bangla and the 42. The latter is supposedly the tallest building in the city.

My wife informed me that finding vegetarian dining options in Kolkata had gotten easier now. I was earlier under the impression that it would be as hard as finding a bar in Saudi Arabia. We went to our first destination, Fly Kouzina, without a reservation and were informed that there would be a 45 minute wait to get in. We drove past to Plush 28, another cushy restaurant on the same road, and found a seat without much ado. A waiter named Kumar Sanu (his actual name, as my wife specifically inquired him and found out) served us hot-and-sour soup to start off proceedings. I gazed out of the window and saw that a slow rain had begun to fall, and was quickly gathering pace. Much respite! After a sumptuous meal, at the end of which we didn't have room for dessert, we waited at the restaurant entrance for about 10 minutes till the rain subsided. We looked outside the window as we got into our car, and saw that the line outside Fly Kouzina had grown.

A week since we departed home, we were bidding goodbyes to Grandma and 'pa, and made our way to the Kolkata airport. These were two parts of the country I had never been to previously, and I will fondly cherish the memories we made.

Kandukondain Kandukondain: a retro movie review

2022-03-28T01:46:00.012+05:30

On a wet December day at the fag end of the first year of the third decade of the twenty first century, at a college town in the middle of nowhere, a bunch of Indians were huddled in a living room, sharing a breakfast of waffles, blueberries, coffee, and orange juice. The topic of conversation turned to Tamil movies, and eventually to "Kandukondain Kandukondain", the second directorial venture of Rajiv Menon, that had released in 2000. I wondered out loud if that movie was an adaptation of "Pride and Prejudice". A Jane Austen fan in the gathering corrected me and told that the movie was based on "Sense and Sensibility". I had not read either of the books. I am more familiar with the works of Soolamangalam sisters than that of the Bronte sisters. I made a mental note that I would revisit this movie later. I got a chance to do that three months later.

[Picture credits: https://wallpapercave.com/w/wp7494861]

The rest of this article focuses on aspects of the movie that I enjoyed, and inevitably contains spoilers. The movie follows the lives of two sisters as they journey from a picturesque village in Kaanadukathan (Tamil Nadu) to Chennai. Their stories are entangled with that of an ex-military man (Mammootty), an engineer-turned-film director (aren't we all? in this movie, it is Ajith Kumar), and a stock-market sensation (Abbas). The movie is women-centric without ever coming across as propaganda. The two sisters are accompanied by their mother, a loyal servant, and a younger inquisitive sister who is portrayed as a fantastic scientist in the making. These ladies strive through in the face of adversity, and emerge victorious. The focus is on their strength and resilience, rather than any real or imagined wickedness of patriarchal society, which, along with the glossy camera-work, and crisp dialogues of Sujatha, make for a compelling and engaging experience.

The first half of the movie reminded me of the place I had left behind, and reminded me the beauty of rural Tamil Nadu. The village of Poongudi pictured in the movie, is quite reminiscent of Pooncholai from Mudhalvan. Mountain tops shrouded in clouds, green-blanket paddy fields, pristine water bodies, broad, uncrowded streets, a train track that joins the village to Chennai, the evening air chiming with Carnatic music, and the best part is that these are not makeshift entities put together for the sake of the movie: such pockets of rural beauty still exist in Tamil Nadu. They need to be preserved lest we should lose them forever.

The two sisters: Sowmya (played by Tabu) and Meenakshi (Aishwarya Rai), two entirely different personalities, but possessed of a steely determination to succeed, come what may. Sowmya is a computer programmer without a degree to attest her qualifications, and a principal at the local school run by her family. She is considered unlucky by many, and seems capable of brushing these barbs away, and is ultimately shown to set fire to such mistaken perceptions about her luck. Meenakshi is a tempestuous dreamer, singer, lover of poems, and a flighty romantic. She is shown to be a huge fan of Subramania Bharathi. Simran's character in "Kannedhirey Thondrinaal", Isha Koppikar's characters in both "En Swaasa Kaatre" and "Kaadhal Kavithai", are a few others from around this time period with similar interests.

When I was younger, I used to wonder how realistic this portrayal of people who are head-over-heels with poems is, because I had hardly come across anyone like that in real life. Then I met Shreemoyee: my girlfriend and wife-to-be, a Bengali who is passionate about literature in general, and Tagore's poems in particular. She gave me a copy of Gitanjali and I was awestruck by the breadth and scope of themes covered in that collection. I could appreciate several similarities between Tagore and Bharathiyar.

Given a scene where a movie character needs to voice his/her aspirations for a brand new world order by means of a song, there is probably no better lyricist than Vairamuthu to drive home the message. With "Chinna Chinna Aasai", "Putham Puthu Boomi Vendum", "Poo Pookkum Osai", "Ande Nootrande", "Satham Illatha Thanimai", and many more numbers, he has made this genre his very own. "Konjum Mainakkale" is another sparkling member of this list. Wikipedia tells me that in roughly two decades since the movie released, we have had Tamil films named after almost every song in the movie.

I was particularly impressed by the characterisation of Kamala, the kutti (little) scientist, in the movie. She is inquisitive about anything and everything, from math, physics, and botany to Tamil literature, and is unhesitant about posing her questions. At a time when Sujatha was answering readers' questions on scientific topics in popular Tamil weeklies, Kamala seems to be the very embodiment of the spirit of inquiry that S. would have wanted to engender in his audience.

A lasting memory from my childhood watching of the movie is Raghuvaran, the director of an IT firm, chiding Tabu that she is overqualified for her job. In my recent viewing, I could count six scenes in which Raghuvaran appears in the movie, and he uses the "overqualified" phrase in three of them.

There is a scene which plays out just before Aishwarya Rai steps up to the mic in the recording studio to record her first major song. Her lover, Abbas, appears on screen with the woman he has to marry. When it is announced that Abbas is going to not marry Aishwarya, but this other lady, the background score consists of a single riff on a violin string. No rolling thunderclouds, no crash of cymbals. Aishwarya slides to the floor as if struck by lightning, like a flower caught in torrential rain and bent beyond repair. This lightness of touch from the director, in such a crucial scene, is admirable. She regains consciousness soon after and puts in a belter of a performance (kudos to KS Chithra, who provided the vocals). This song "Enge Enadhu Kavithai" (Where is my poem) has one of the best choruses in Tamil cinema. I would rate it only behind the chorus lines of "Devathai Pol Oru Pen" from Gopura Vasalile.

The best and most impactful song from the movie, the one which won a National Award for Shankar Mahadevan, is also the one which seems most incongruous in terms of where it appears in the story. Ajith Kumar has barely interacted with Tabu for fifteen minutes, before he finds her waiting in the car near a railway crossing, and breaks into a full-hearted "Enna Solla Pogirai" ("What will you tell me/ What will your decision be?"). The song plays again towards the end of the movie, where we see a broken Ajith, near a white-coloured gate (not too different from the one that Simbu jumps over in Vinnai Thaandi Varuvaaya, to kick off "Hosanna") gazing up at a sobbing Tabu on the balcony. He is waiting to hear if she would accept him into her life, or let him go, and the background music beautifully amps up the tension. Through the course of the movie, Ajith poses a "yes/no" question to Tabu thrice. She answers in the affirmative all the three times. Her character is an embodiment of stoic, unconditional, unwavering love in the movie, and a joy to watch; the equivalent of a dal khichdi on a rainy Surti evening, or a cutting chai on a wintry Bangalore morning. Ironical how moments of deep love are portrayed by the sibling who considers herself a pragmatist and a realist alien to the notions of love as portrayed in popular literature. If a movie had one such character that paid tribute to unconditional love, it could be considered a classic. This movie has two: the other one being played by Mammootty, who takes a while to realise that his affections for Aishwarya Rai extend for reasons beyond her musical talent. He stops himself from outrightly announcing his love for her, cognisant of the difference in their age. He continues to act, however, in her best interests, helping her build a career in music. Aishwarya, for a long time, rebuffs him in favour of Abbas, but finally recognises the depth of his feelings for her. Given their practical and unselfish interpretations of what love means, I wondered if the characters of Mammootty and Tabu would have made a better match. Aishwarya and Ajith, both shown to have careers in the film industry, could have been the other pair. What we see instead is a case of opposites attracting.

"Do you know what is a fate worse than death? Being forgotten", Mammootty laments while being transported back home in the back of his own van. The line sounds equally impactful in Tamil and English. Towards the end of his movie, there is another gem of a scene where this agnostic army general turns believer, and the lines he speaks to Aishwarya Rai during this transformation are pithy and poignant. In essence, he confesses that everything that has happened to him so far in life, his fighting in the war, his losing a leg, and so on, has lead up to this point, because he feels that God has entrusted this green-eyed angel to him for caretaking. These lines sound better in Tamil. How we miss you, Sujatha. I stress upon the writer's contribution not just because I am an unapologetic fanboy, but also because the movie's existence in Tamil owes a lot to him: the director narrated the dialogues to him in a mixture of Malayalam and English, and it was S. who translated them into Tamil.

The movie also works at a meta-level. Ajith's character tries to make his first movie based on the English film, "Speed", before changing tack to shoot a movie that combines various masala elements. This is probably the first Tamil movie that contains the phrase "reaching B and C centres" meaning that a movie released in Tamil Nadu must also be able to appeal to the rural audience, and people not residing in the cities. Kandukondain Kandukondain became a commercial and critical hit, precisely because it was able to connect with the "B and C" audiences. Actor Manivannan's role in achieving this mission cannot be overemphasised. His nonchalant dialogue delivery is a critical element to the story, and I was a bit saddened by his disappearance from the screen towards the end of the movie.

The breeziest song in the movie also has probably one of my favourite song lines in Tamil cinema: "Thookkam Kalainthaalum Kanavu Kalaiyaatha Vaazhkai Vazhkinraen" (I live a life where the dream hasn't ended even though my sleep has).

There is utmost respect paid to the script in the movie, which is scarcely deviated by the star-power of the ensemble cast. Ajith convincingly pulls off the role of a director struggling to make an entry into the film world. In another movie that released around this period, "Mugavari", he plays the role of an aspiring music composer. In an era where heroes have to be infallible, we hardly see such characters any more.

I watched the movie over three days, beginning on a Friday evening, and ending on Sunday night. The supposedly breezy film had landed a heavy punch, and I reeled under its impact for another three days after I had watched the movie. Here is wishing for more such movies from the director, who deserves to be appreciated more.

No Stranger Conversations

2022-01-17T20:19:00.006+05:30

My short-story collection, "No Stranger Conversations", out now on Amazon.

Link to eBook and paperback (USA): https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09QFG4YV3

Link to eBook (India): https://www.amazon.in/dp/B09QHC85T2

Hope you enjoy reading it, and please feel free to leave your thoughts/comments :)

Every Thursday Has A Story #19

2020-11-28T16:11:00.003+05:30

[The phrase waddled into my head after a series of 5 Thursdays seven years ago. Each of those Thursdays stood out splendidly from the rest of the week; each of 'em gave me a story worth remembering. Many Thursdays have passed since and the fact that I expect a Thursday to have a story somehow makes it happen.]

"Map out your future - but do it in pencil" Jon Bon Jovi

Some write to remember, some write to forget.

At the very edge of of dream, lies reality. Tantalizingly close, but separated by a wall that runs all along the border. It is possible to see past the wall from either side, but crossing the border is easier said (dreamt?) than done.

I am on the top floor of yet another hostel, where I am quarantined for 14 days before being allowed into my old room on campus. Life is kind and I don't have to deal with mosquitoes. This is a fairly tall building and while I am normally used to the sounds of pigeons and cuckoos from outside my window, in this hostel I get to hear eagles. I can't remember the last time I saw eagles so close up. Didn't Schopenhauer have something to say about some people making their perch on high places ?

My dietary needs are taken care of, and I haven't used my wallet in more than a week now. Which is strange because I can only think of only a few places where one can get by without a wallet for as long: prisons, for one. Can you think of any other ?

I mix a packet of ready-to-drink Ginger chai into the lid of my thermos flask, carefully adding hot water and stirring the mixture. The streamlines swirl around, as do my thoughts. Does there exist an extra tension along these streamlines because of the tea particles ? I wouldn't think so. This is most likely a dilute colloidal solution, not a viscoelastic polymer solution. I walk over to a nearby window that overlooks the boundary separating our campus from the Vihar Lake. I have always wondered how to go over to the other side. Walking straight up to the security guard who patrols the large gate separating the two worlds has not helped. And I have done that twice in the past 2 years.

Does everybody on this side of the border wonder what life must be like out there ? Or is there some asymmetry to this feeling of longing ? Does the frontier allow for recrossing ? Are feelings of longing tempered by the answer to the previous question ?

There is certainly a warped sense of time within these walls. I had brought along an Eric Weiner (pronounced "whiner") book, expecting it to last me through the fortnight. I finished it in three days. It is a fabulous read, and I couldn't help but be enthused to see the names of Alan Watts, E F Schumacher and Friedrich Nietzsche all mentioned in the same book.

I am drawn to the window again. The most prominent feature of the view are three enormous pipelines running parallel to a normal road perused by vehicles and pedestrians. The middle pipeline might have been laid about the same time that Great Expectations was published. The other two pipes gleam, by comparison. I saw a group of youth making perforation on the middle pipeline, and plugging it with a thin rod. Are they officials or vagabonds ? No way to tell from this distance. Please, officer, let me through to the other side, and I will find out. Third time lucky at the gate, I suppose ?

At nights, the pipeline road is dark, if not completely deserted. It could do with more lights, and I don't think the lack of electricity could be an issue: I see huge pylons adorning the skyline, just across the border. The residents of Pipeline Colony want neither to see nor be seen, probably. Fair enough.

There is a watery border, called River Styx, that is believed by the ancient Greeks to separate the Earth from the Underworld.

About a couple of weeks ago, the Twitter profile of a college friend showed up on the sidebar. Twitter normally suggests profiles which we might want to follow. I am certain her mention was not under the "Who to follow" section, because we already follow each other on Twitter. I had not read her tweets in a long time, so I clicked her profile and one retweet from 2014 caught my eye: "If you don't design your own life plan, chances are you'll fall into someone else's plan & guess what they have planned for you? Not much." The sentence nicely dove-tailed with a Bon Jovi quote I read in a newspaper recently. This quote, and the idea it embodies, needs to be mandatorily included in school curricula across the world. The price one pays for its late realisation is simply too steep.

I wished I could have told her that those lines precipitated a realisation within me: I couldn't because she had passed away in a road accident about 5 years ago.

I am mildly annoyed that my favourite living crime fiction author keeps a close track of his weekly position in the bestseller's list, and shares it with his followers. Dear Ian Rankin: Your books are amazing, John Rebus is fantastic, and it is always to fun to read your stories no matter what the rankings say.

Book of the moment: The Geography of Bliss by Eric Weiner.

Flick of the moment: Soorarai Pottru.

Tune of the moment: Kaatu Payale from Soorarai Pottru. The singer, Dhee, has a phenomenal voice. I would place her and Sid Sriram to be the biggest finds of the past half-decade.

Gyaan of the moment: Being good is not always easy; what is difficult is not always good. Being likeable is not difficult, but it certainly is not bad to be likeable.

Reminiscing about Jaane Tu Ya Jaane Na (JTYJN)

2020-09-05T12:59:00.004+05:30

I write this in fond remembrance of an anachronistic movie that released in mid-2008. I don't think the movie had any business releasing in that year, in hindsight it seems more appropriately suited to an earlier decade and secondly, I don't think the movie had any business pretending to be a movie! If you took away Rahman's enchanting music, the script seems tailor-made for the stage rather than the silver-screen.

I first sat down to watch the movie with my parents on VHS (do you remember those ?) in mid-2009. I was so bored that I got up and went to sleep after fifteen minutes. I didn't even wait till the first song of the movie, Kabhi Kabhi Aditi, which I had listened to umpteen times, came on screen. I actually watched the complete movie only about ten years later, and loved every minute of it. What had changed? That's for you to wonder, and me to know.

You would agree that there are realistic movies and escapist ones. JTYJN falls firmly into the latter category. The protagonists, Jai and Aditi, and their friends go to a college in South Bombay and are largely secured from real-life challenges and mundane chores. A cat's death is mourned, the cat-owner (Aditi) is cajoled, and normalcy restored. Aditi and her brother are almost constantly bickering, and symbolically, her brother owns a mouse as a pet. I just thought you should know this little plot element.

The movement from scene to scene seems quite organic, and everything is so clean. Jai falls into a relationship smoothly, and falls out of it almost as noiselessly. Heck, he even goes to jail imperceptibly and comes out on horseback. Aditi also gets entangled in an ill-advised liaison, and her separation from Prince Not-So-Charming is a bit less smooth. Said prince, however, is the cue for the best song of the movie (Kahin Toh). How Jai and Aditi fall for each other after going through one bad relationship experience apiece is the crux of the story. There I have said it, and it is hardly a spoiler.

The freshness and vivacity of the young actors is ably complemented by the staid performance of a stellar support cast that includes Ratna Pathak Shah, Naseeruddin Shah, Rajat Kapoor, and Paresh Rawal, among others. This winning combination of experience and youth is reminiscent of the Indian men's ODI cricket team of 2000-2013.

The viewers are treated to the face of a city that has suddenly realised it is being filmed, and has showered and cleaned herself expressly for this purpose. The film is as good an advertisement for the City of Dreams as any, if it ever needed one. There is a remarkable resonance between the version of Mumbai portrayed by JTYJN, and that picturized in Wake Up Sid: a city teeming with possibilities, where joy and sorrow coexist without ever being overwhelming, the equivalent of a Marine Drive ride at 4 o'clock on a Sunday afternoon. It is certainly a highly idealised and romanticised version of the city, but one that would serve well when life feels like Saki Naka junction on a Wednesday evening.

Jai's mother is a human rights activist by day, and a voracious book reader by evening. I would love to get a better look at her book collection. Her conversations with the portrait of her long-deceased husband are hilarious in their own right.

Dear Abbas Tyrewala: 2020 has been rough on the world. Please cook up something!

A Matter of Motive: Being Human in the age of artificial intelligence

2020-07-18T09:21:00.000+05:30

This article was submitted as entry for an essay competition organised by Jnana-Deepa Vidyapeeth, Pune.

The biological success of a species is largely determined by its ability to transfer its DNA to its next generation. The actions of all species are hard-wired to ensure the achievement of this primordial objective. The ones that succeed, have lasted millennia: see for example, cockroaches, and the ones that do not, have been eliminated from the gene pool. The reason behind the success or failure of a species is quite simply boiled down to its ability to respond to change, as identified by Darwin. Century after century of natural selection has ensured that not only this overarching objective, but the means to achieve it, have been genetically hardwired into every organism. Gazelles have developed nimble legs to help them outrun lions, and lions in turn have learned to organize and hunt as a pride. Nature abhors monopoly, and a system of checks, balances and redundancy ensures that a reasonably stable equilibrium is maintained among the various inhabitants of the planet. The emergence of humankind, with their superior brain power, has contributed largely to the wanton disruption of this delicate balance, and this is well-documented. The most important factor that distinguishes humans from the rest of the animal kingdom is sentience: a sense of awareness combined with the ability to overcome biological instincts. A superior brain power at the individual level, and supreme organizational ability driven by ever-evolving means of communication, has meant that humankind has been winning the battle against other species over hundreds of thousands of years. With the advent of fire, the wheel, the plough, the steam engine, petroleum, the airplane, penicilin and plastic, humankind has successfully leveraged tools to overcome almost all adversities presented by the natural environment. This species is now bored and restless. It has a new tool at its disposal, and is looking for mountains to climb, and galaxies to explore. Enter Artificial Intelligence (AI).

We are currently witnessing the rise of intelligent machines that have replaced or are replacing humans in several fields. On the one hand, there exist several research entities who devote enormous time and money to make faster, more accurate machines, and on the other, there are a few bodies, like the Future of Humanity Institute, which ponder upon the implications of AI. At this juncture, it is essential to understand that AI may be trained to solve problems, and may even develop the ability to learn by itself, but it is highly likely that it would proceed unhindered in its evolutionary path. As noted earlier, an important consequence of sentience in human beings is that it makes us wonder about questions such as “(A) Why are we here ?”, “(B) Where are we going ?”, and “(C) What do we want to be remembered by ?”.These questions are as likely to strike us as we gaze silently at the stars on a cloudless night, as when we are stuck in traffic looking at the number-plate of the vehicle in front. Every significant technological development that the human race has brought forth has been somebody’s “immortality project” (in the words of Mark Manson); somebody’s attempt at creating an ever-lasting body of work. This tendency has remained the true-north, the guiding light for all human progress. Ambitious subjects have gone on to generate electricity, split the atom, or travel to space. The less ambitious/gifted ones have managed to bring forth new humans on to the planet and inculcate in their progeny a burning passion for achieving objectives that would be left unfilfilled in the parents’ lifetime. Having identified the prime-mover of human development, it now behooves us to ask what, if any, is the motivation for machines to evolve, if given a choice.

At this point, it is not possible to wonder how a sentient machine would think, or what its governing objectives would be. This is most probably a task best left to sci-fi writers, many of whom have already crafted masterpieces which deal with this subject. We could, however, observe the state-of-the-art: the extant technology, and the humans that develop them. It would become immediately obvious that the single-biggest purpose of the majority of the existing technology is to simplify human life. Yes, simplify, not simulate, extrapolate or act as a substitute for the act of living. The self-driving car, having transported you from the beach to your home, will wait in the garage until tasked with the next assignment. It might decide to charge itself during this off-work hours, but it is unlikely to ponder about its deeper purpose of life, or plan for a trip it has not been assigned yet, or mull about world domination. The point being that these machines have been created by humans aiming to solve a specific purpose, and it seems unlikely (not impossible) that they would aspire to do or be anything else. The machine would not have the notion of an “immortality project”, because the concept of mortality in an intelligent machine appears ill-defined. Based upon these assumptions, one might conclude that while machines may replace the need for human labor, they are not, in their current form, capable of replacing humanity, because they serve no purpose except for the one(s) they were designed for. Quite simply put, as death becomes insignificant, life loses its value, and it seems inconceivable that an entity faced with no prospect of death, would hope to work towards building a legacy. With this point established, it should become easier to view AI systems as collaborators of humans rather than their competition.

It is hoped that the age of AI coincides with the age of deliberative decision making, and action accompanied by forethought. For all the prowess displayed by the mighty machines, they are quite incapable of making value judgments or answering ethical questions. These questions are central to human existence, and we might do well to remember that machines can only figure out how to accomplish a certain task, but cannot decide upon the task themselves. We may outsource the task of building airplanes or doing laundry to smart, internet-connected machines, but there would be no point in letting a machine choose for us our spouse, vocation or hobbies, for example. Economic prosperity would still be guided in the soundness of the economic policies being implemented, not by the AI systems used to implement them. Technology is agnostic about its end use. It is we, as humans, who shape technology to serve our needs. The age of AI, therefore, requires us to be at our resourceful and creative best, knowing that the search engine does not hold all the answers.

The age of AI would-should-help us grow more appreciative of what makes us human, and direct our energies to outlining sustainable, cohesive development goals at the personal and societal levels. Once the goals, and a governing sense of ethics has been established, achieving the said goals would be made easier by the presence of intelligent machines.

Coronama

2020-04-12T15:56:00.001+05:30

We don't always reach our destination running towards it; sometimes our running away from something else might make us stumble upon our destination.

It has been more than sixteen days since I returned home from the Institute. I was supposed to have returned on Day 14. I have now begun working from home. Pen. Paper. MATLAB. LaTeX. These are all that I need presently. An internet connection helps me communicate my research progress to my supervisors, and receive suggestions.

It has been a long time since I did any bit of gardening: I am now growing fenugreek, coriander and a few greens in my backyard. Mom had made coriander chutney from the stuff that I grew, about 4 years ago. The grilled sandwich made from that chutney tasted divine. The thing about coriander is that it takes quite a while to grow. Will I still be at home when the coriander has grown ? The plus side is that I would get to enjoy delish. sandwiches. The flip side ? It would mean that the lockdown has not ended. Yikes.

My parents and I discuss the news of the day, and watched Shankar's movies. Dad has discovered a new-found appreciation for Sujatha's wizardry with words and Shankar's cinematography, and we have become total fan-boys. The flower-seller in Mudhalvan sings a song with the words Karaiyellam Chenbaga Poo in it, which happens to be a novel by Sujatha. The house evacuation scene from the same movie has the phrase Saamaan Nikalo which became the opening words in a song in Chennai 600028. And when you follow an artist's creations minutely over the years, you tend to notice a certain pattern: while Prabhudeva danced on bus roofs in Kaadhalan, Arjun walked over parked buses to rescue a stranger's life in Mudhalvan. The scene where Prabhudeva describes his dream girl to Vadivelu is nearly identical to the one where Arjun has a similar conversation with his parents. How we miss the 90s. I suppose the government is also aware of this fact: TV channels are awash with movies and shows from that era. Amul has even started broadcasting ads shot 3 decades ago. Nostalgia is a powerful drug.

I am currently reading (re-reading) Sujatha's Kolaiyuthir Kaalam (Autumn of Murders). It is his one novel that I never tire of reading, and it is the one novel that brings me closest to the verge of the canyon that separates my will to write a novel from its actual execution. Ko. Ka takes me to the edge every single time I read it, enthralling me with the view from the precipice, showing me what is possible if only I take the leap and put finger-to-keyboard. I promise myself I would write; that I really really would write material that comforts and soothes readers separated by time and space. I promise and promise and promise. And I renege. Is fiction a rainbow that straddles the chasm separating reality from dreams ? Or is it a bridge that connects the two worlds ? When I find out, I will let you know. I promise.

Went out in the evening to withdraw some cash. The sun appeared to be retreating in boredom. Does fatigue exist in the absence of activity ? I wish I could ask this to someone who knew the answer. Sirumugai is deserted. What was once a two-horse town is now effectively a no-horse town.

The virtues of detoxification has been widely extolled: from mountaintops to sandy beach-fronts, the good word is that "less is more". This message probably applies not only to material things, but also to thoughts. I am not advocating that we think less, only suggesting that we eschew thoughts that hinder action. Having done so, it is essential to set aside a period of calculated idleness/emptiness, when we allow thoughts to take root in the garden of our minds. At what point does the garden stop being one, and start resembling a jungle ? How much control do we have over own thoughts ? It is certainly easier to travel smoothly over barren land, as compared to navigating one's way through a forest, but would the journey be as eventful ? Must the journey be eventful ? Is it possible to lose our way when we travel inwards, within our own minds ? This paragraph certainly seems to have lost its way.

On day twenty-seven, the nightmares stopped. Relief. Two days later, so did the dreams. Emptiness! You could fight fear, dread, adversity and either come out tops or succumb to the enemy. How do you fight emptiness? It is apathetic and doesn't fight back. You will soon get bored. And boredom is a stronger adversary than adversity.

Will somebody broadcast Samurai Jack ?

A very real set: nonfiction book recommendations

2020-03-27T14:00:00.000+05:30

My cousin, who is in his second year of PhD research, asked me how I got into reading nonfiction. I promised him I would think it over and write the answer in the form of a blog post. Prior to 2014, I cannot remember having read much nonfiction. I decided to get adventurous and explore this domain, and I suppose I was extremely fortunate that I hit upon a series of fantastic non-fiction books which got me hooked to this genre. Had I chanced upon dry-as-bone theses masquerading as nonfiction books during those early days, I am not sure if I would have been able to integrate nonfiction into my intellectual diet.

A bit of curiosity, and the right set of books to get started with is all that I believe are needed to develop and sustain interest in nonfiction. The "rightness" of these books is highly subjective, and I list below books which could stimulate interest, in my opinion. I have enjoyed reading every one of these books, and it certainly was a hard task to rank them. I have arranged the list in the order I would recommend them to a new reader.

The Geography of Genius by Eric Weiner
The Culture Map by Erin Meyer
Sapiens by Yuval Noah Harari
Give and Take by Adam Grant
The Hunt for Vulcan by Thomas Levenson
Why soccer matters by Pele (with Brian Winter)
Chaos by James Gleick
The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin
Fear and loathing in La Liga by Sid Lowe
Meditations by Marcus Aurelius
The Tipping Point by Malcolm Gladwell
Never Eat Alone by Keith Ferrazzi

Feel free to drop your recommendations in the comments section.

Ruminations

2019-06-23T15:30:00.002+05:30

A sliver of hope. That is all it takes to get out of the bed, really. Equilibrium refers to a state of perfect balance. A complete symmetry between forward and backward trajectories, resulting in net zero motion. Any movement in a preferred direction, therefore, implies a break in symmetry, a shift out of equilibrium. The sleeper is now out-of-equilibrium with respect to the bed, and is headed towards the shower, picking up the soap-box and towel along the way. He turns the shower on, and realizes that the soap-box now only contained the feeble remnants of its contents.

A sliver of soap. Whether he likes it or not, his day must begin thusly.

Jo hai bhi aur nahi bhi hai yeh....

Dinner at an outlet whose seating area might have measured 15' x 8'. Ordered a burrito and occupied a seat opposite the huge TV screen showing the Indian batsmen negotiating a searing opening spell. Kohli was on. Looking a bit scratchy today, but always finding the release shot. There, he has done it again. Deposited a middle-stump directed ball in the vast swathe between long-on and deep midwicket. So engrossed was I in the game that I did not even notice Loud Guy and Anaemic Girl on the adjoining table. Then Kohli got out to an ill-advised waft outside off. Right. Now I could clearly notice what transpired on the table next to mine, as ours were the only occupied seats that night. The guy was explaining the rules of cricket, on the fly, as every ball was delivered, to everyone in the room. Couldn't hear much of what the girl had to say. My burrito arrived twenty-five minutes after having been ordered. Salsa sauce on the side. Finished the offering and headed off for ice cream.

Kaise kahoon kahaani main inki...

Understanding the theory of the life, universe and everything is the Holy Grail of science. There are a large number of scientists attempting to explain the behavior of a collection of living beings based on statistical mechanical principles that were originally formulated to explain the behavior of - wait for it - a collection of tiny non-living matter, such as the molecules of gas zooming around in a room. I find the work of Jeremy England (Associate Professor at MIT Physics)and coworkers in this field to be fascinating. He showed, using simplified models constructed of interconnected, interacting particles, that this system of particles responds, and adapts "dissipatively" to changes in environmental cues; that it is possible to drive the system to be in a specific "state of being" by altering the properties of the surroundings. While this may seem intuitive, it needs mathematical machinery and physical insight to capture such stimuli-induced changes in a purely theoretical manner. Without a doubt, the system mirrors the surroundings: not perfectly, and not always in sync, but it definitely attempts to.

Tu Bhi Main Bhi Sabhi Hain Sheeshe .. Khud Hi Ko Hum Sabhi Mein Dekhein..

Review-nama

2019-03-24T19:31:00.004+05:30

Calcutta Chromosme by Amitav Ghosh

Fear and disgust. Those are the first two words that come to my mind as I sit down to type a review for this book, having finished reading it three weeks ago. Each of us has their own favorite fictional universe that they wish they could be a part of : the Calcutta Chromosome is not a fictional universe you want to mess with. In fact, if you feel that there are certain events from the book that are beginning to be mirrored in your life, you have the right to feel cursed. And scared.

Firstly, the bad part : Ghosh seems entirely unconvincing when his characters speak. I absolutely hate it when writers assign completely unfeasible dialogues to their characters : people do not speak as they write. There are a few masters who know exactly how to frame dialogues and prose : the former replete with grammatical errors, lisps, and slang while the latter seems imperiously carved in stone. Think "Great Expectations" or "To Kill A Mocking Bird". Sujatha's stories are also notable for the authenticity of their dialogues.

But then again, I love so many authors who cannot distinguish between dialogues and prose, and write them both in the same way : R. K. Narayan, Murakami, Ian Rankin, to name a few. So yes, may be it is not quite an open-and-shut case after all.

Now, the good part : Ghosh contrives a universe which enticingly draws you in; and you are lead on, hoping to find more about Ronald Ross. By the time you are halfway through the book, you are firmly entrapped in the hellish nightmare contrived by the author.

The fear factor peaks abruptly towards the end of the book, as events unfold near the Renupur railway station. One of the authors experiences these events early on in his life, and he remains permanently scarred even in old age. Merely having read about these events in a book , has left behind a vestige of a wound upon my psyche. But, boy, how I wish I could create an imaginary world like the one presented in the book. You will never look at abandoned railway stations or mosquito bites the same way ever again. Neither will you feel like reading the book ever again: and therein lies Ghosh's magic.

Lucky Ali Live in Concert

As 2013 drew to a frigid close in Philadelphia, I had made myself comfortable with a book in my bedroom, having just completed the dishes after my dinner. From the adjoining room, I heard a few notes of an unknown song seep in tentatively into my ears. I sat there transfixed, as song after song wafted in my direction. About twenty minutes later, I stepped in to my flatmate's room and asked him about the songs. He said that they were Lucky Ali's album songs from the 90s. I had heard of the man of course, but had no idea he made those songs. Over the next one week, I think I ended up listening to nearly 90 percent of all Lucky Ali songs on YouTube. That's it. By 2019, his songs fit easily into my playlist.

So it was a pleasant surprise indeed when I was gently dragged along to a Lucky Ali concert scheduled to be held on International Women's Day, at The Dublin Square in Kurla. I had read a YouTube comment once that said that the man has no breath-control whatsoever; that years of smoking have taken their toll. How accurate could YouTube comments be, anyway ?

This comment turned out to be spot on. Lucky saheb was finding it difficult to hold his breath in places. That did not seem to be much of a problem, because the crowd gladly stepped in to complete the words of the song. The joy in the audience was tangible.

I will never forget this one moment from the concert: when Lucky Ali stepped back from the microphone for a quick break. He turned his back to the crowd, took a sip of water, and sat on the platform where the drums were kept, facing the crowd. He then took a sip of tea from a paper cup. It certainly looked like tea from a distance: there was even what looked like the tail of a tea-bag that was seen dangling outside the cup.

The songs were interspersed with philosophical musings from the singer, a few of which were straightforward: "Do not judge; unite together in love", and a few which were downright cryptic: "It is March now, isn't it? It is still snowing up in the Himalayas".

The man somehow seemed to have come face-to-face with his own mortality: "Mar bhi gaye toh bhool na jaana". The song containing this line was the only one that was sung twice during the whole evening.

I had wolfed down two veggie burgers from Burger King before entering the concert venue. Access to food gets more difficult once you are in the venue. Beverages were closer at hand.

I wish he had sung "Kitni Haseen Zindagi" and "Safarnama". There were a lot of other songs to be cheerful about, though. We walked out of the concert, and the music in our hearts we bore - long after it was heard no more!

Every Thursday Has A Story #18

2018-09-09T10:48:00.001+05:30

[The phrase waddled into my head after a series of 5 Thursdays six years ago. Each of those Thursdays stood out splendidly from the rest of the week; each of 'em gave me a story worth remembering. Many Thursdays have passed since and the fact that I expect a Thursday to have a story somehow makes it happen.]

Anthropomorphizing scientific principles is probably a bad thing : the laws of thermodynamics or gravity exist independent of your choices/preferences/opinion about them. Nonetheless, I have seen teachers put a philosophical spin on such dry topics, and somehow extrapolate the implications to human life. That being said, I will indulge in a bit of a.po.mo myself. May be it's a sign that I am getting old. May be.

One of the biggest "aha" moments of the past year was that for anyone aiming to create any enduring piece of art, they must abandon the notion of time. Art, like thermodynamics, has no idea of time. Getting it done well ought to be more important than getting it done quickly. However, it is not a perfect world that we live in, and time does enter the fray as an important variable. Statistical Mechanics, which does include the aspect of time, broadens the applicability of thermodynamics to many more avenues.

Being entrenched in such a time-bound reality, we get blown away when an artist pulls off a piece of work that pays zero attention to the passage of time around them. I certainly felt that way when I saw ARR on stage in Melbourne. Felt that again on a different day as a roadside chai-walla in Powai completed his morning routine (lighting the incense stick, first few drops of chai for the flies and crows, etc.) before serving chai to the surrounding gathering which had been watching his performance for the past fifteen minutes. Realized that a thing of beauty is a joy forever, and can often leave a ginger-y aftertaste in the mouth.

[ View from the common balcony on 7th Floor]
"Are you a feminist ?"
"Yes, but not the extreme type, y' know ? I believe in equal pay and benefits, but I also feel that we women must be ready to put in equal work as well" #Overheard on campus.

The best roadside tea that I have ever tasted is at "Yadav Tea Point", opposite Sahyog Garden, in Gorwa, Vadodara. The worst roadside tea that I ever tasted is at "Yadav Tea Stall" opposite IIT-B Main gate, in Powai. Seriously, what's in a name, huh ?

Now reading "Before You Know It" by John Bargh. Right from the very first page where the author talks about his college-day experience as a radio jockey, he keeps the reader hooked with his narrative style. I am fortunate to have read several such engaging books over the past year : "The Culture Map" by Erin Myer and "The Geography of Genius" by Eric Weiner are stand-out examples. Also highly recommended are "Chaos" by James Gleick, and "Flash Boys" by Michael Lewis.
Going back to Bargh's book, he talks about how the stories that we tell ourselves shape our destiny. A profound thought.

Batsman, Listen to Thyself

2018-01-20T12:40:00.000+05:30

[Written in the aftermath of India's Test cricket defeat on South African shores, January 2018, after the first two Tests of a three match series.]

Frenetic action. Test cricket played at breathtaking pace. It certainly was a pulsating affair, both the Test matches played by the Indian cricket team. But do they have to be ? What use is flamboyance when one cannot secure a victory ? It's been a staple feature of India's away defeats over the past six-seven years. Brief flashes of brilliance that culminated in abject failure : An ebb of bravery was shot down in Auckland 2014. Lord's in 2014 was drowned by the other games in the series. A quick breakthrough followed by several dropped catches. A swashbuckling tail-end partnership that gets the team oh-so-tantalizingly close to victory but falters : memories that linger on in fans' minds as silent reminders of a team that has potential but has never been able to capitalize on the crucial moments.

In the recent series, India had to chase down 200+ runs in the last innings for victory. [Credit first to the bowlers for actually having got us so close. Nothing more could/should be asked of them.] In both the Tests, they had more than a day to achieve this task. One can analyze the defeat from two angles : 1. lack of batsmen's aptitude in Tests in testing conditions and 2. Attitude mismatch.

Topic 1 is easily discussed : bar Kohli's ton, none of the batsmen really looked comfortable on these pitches. These are the same batsmen who decide to pursue their crafts in the IPL over a summer, as opposed to county cricket stint in England or Australia. Rahul Dravid could conjure "miracles" at Rawalpindi, Sabina Park, Adelaide, and Perth (to name a few) because of solid talent molded by his experience playing for Kent. Sachin Tendulkar would fondly recollect his Yorkshire stint. Laxman briefly plied his trade in Lancashire. Ganguly certainly did make an effort at Durham. They all played for just a season, but I am certain that it added a degree of situational-awareness to their skill-set. In due defence of the current team, it wasn't that the previous generation were all conquering behemoths in away games : but they certainly won several memorable Test matches abroad. Not series, but definitely more Test matches.

The current crop, the IPL generation, well you know the spiel already. I do not need to spell it out for you.

Let me dwell on Topic 2 longer. It is one thing to pull off a sharp catch in the boundary, a smart run-out manoeuvre, dust your hands off and focus on the next ball. It takes a special mindset to respond quickly to match situations. The key point, though, is that in T20, the situations present themselves with alarming regularity. It takes an entirely different mindset to crouch in the slips for 15 overs straight, without a single ball coming your way, and yet be alert enough to pouch on the one that does finally arrive. There could be many names one can allot to this ability, but I prefer to call it a resistance to boredom. It is OBVIOUS that one can get bored when there is no action on the field for long periods of time, the key is to fight the tendency. When you have spent the entire summer playing a brand of cricket where something exciting happens almost every other ball, how could you expect the same band of cricketers to excel at the attrition game : to wait patiently and execute flawlessly ? May be they are professionals who can switch effortlessly and seamlessly from one format to another, but the results clearly don't tell the tale.

Assuming that this batch DOES have the aptitude for Test match cricket and nobody hasn't told them the secret to winning it, here are my 2 cents : if you control the tempo, you control the game. The team, (and the individual), which handles boredom better, wins the game.
When your team is 3 down at 10, the momentum is clearly with the opponent. Your primary job is to de-escalate. The fielding side is clearly buoyed by a dangerous cocktail of euphoria and adrenaline. Make them feel bored. First by your batting ability, then by surreptitiously stealing moments to talk to yourself, and your partner. Pat the pitch. Walk to square-leg. Take a deep breath. THINK. If any of these antics are deemed as time-wasting tactics, the umpire will let you know. I certainly wasn't able to find any rules regarding the time allowed for batsmen between deliveries. There must be a rational limit, but if there's one luxury afforded to you as a batsman in Test cricket, it is this : you can CHOOSE when to slow things down. These are not gimmicks that can compensate for lack of ability, but they can certainly help a talented batsman adapt to the match situation.

Slip-catching is a related issue. Simply more catching practice is not going to solve the problem. It is ridiculously easy to take catches when you know they are regularly flying your way. It becomes exponentially difficult to snag the lone attempt that comes your way in Over 79.3, amidst a turgid, torpor-inducing session.

The question is therefore : how to train the team to face and defeat boredom ? Several answers come to the mind. I will list one method here and leave the elaboration for later. Make the team practice slip catching, batting and unwavering focus in the face of death-defying boredom after watching 3 hour video-footages of :
Batting by Gary Kirsten, Michael Atherton, Jacques Kallis, Wasim Jaffer, and Graham Thorpe.
Bowling by Ashley Giles, Andrew Symonds, and Ravindra Jadeja.
Missed slip-catches by the current audience.
[Above list is non-exhaustive. Feel free to add your own names]

All said, I still expect the Men-in-Blue to do well in the ODI games and win the series.

Over and out.

[Written for good fun. To be read in good jest. No feelings meant to be hurt]

Attending the Boxing Day Test at the Melbourne Cricket Ground

2017-12-26T16:33:00.000+05:30

Today, I was (1/88000)^thof a crowd. I think this is the largest crowd which I have been a (1/n)^thof.
I also suppose this must be the world's largest open-air bar. There was beer flowing - FLOWING - everywhere.

This was the fourth match of Ashes 2017, which had been decided by the end of the third match. That is why I was able to get tickets for this fixture at the gate, on the same day as the event. I had no stake in the game. Was supporting Australia because supporting a team makes the watching more fun.

An Aunty from the Wurundjeri clan offered a ceremonial leaf to both the teams, welcoming them to play cricket on the field, while urging the crowd to take care of the environment. Australia had won the toss and decided to bat.

Been nearly 7 years since my last cricket game at a ground. Had almost forgotten the sweet "thump" that the ball makes when it hits the middle of the bat. Warner did well to ensure that the sound was heard all morning.

In the seats behind mine, there were four "lads" who talked Snapchat, Tinder, and the moral transgressions by wives of cricket players.

Thought I spotted Virat Kohli. No, it couldn't be. Didn't he just get married a couple of weeks ago ? How could he be attending the Boxing Day Test alone? That too, taking a seat in the higher tiers, so far away from the cricket field ? Couldn't keep wondering for long. Walked up to him and said : "You look a lot like Virat Kohli, y'know". He just smiled and replied, "Yes, I know. Thanks, mate". Ah well. That's that.

Noticed a white butterfly doing its rounds on the field. Wondered if the commentator had noticed it. Luna Lovegood surely would have.

Lunch was two hot jam doughnuts and a pack of chips. If you are vegetarian, you would do well to pack your own lunch before you head to the ground.

The crowd started doing Mexican Waves after lunch. Didn't the website specifically say that the MW was not allowed in the stands ?

Now, in the seats behind mine, was an impatient kid asking his father when Steven Smith would come on to bat."Right after Khawaja", he assured, "right after him. I am sure Smith's all padded up and ready to go. He is just waiting in the dug-out".

The pitch had nothing in it for the bowlers. The only thing as unflagging as Stuart Broad's spirits and lines was the crowd's booing that accompanied any mention of Broad's name. There was absolutely no reaction from the crowd when the other bowlers' names was announced. There was one - EXACTLY one - Barmy Army member who shouted "Go Jimmy" every time that Anderson would come in for a spell.

On the train back, I remembered an old article about the G. Jarrod Kimber had pulled off a ripper with that one. I actually went to the far end of my coach, where a map of the train line was posted, so that I could trace the parts of Melbourne he refers to in his article. Hats off, Jarrod. I read it more than 2 years ago and had liked it instantly. Reading it again, after having been to the MCG, just makes it better.

Half

2017-12-09T04:49:00.001+05:30

It was a half-hearted morning : the sun quite not sure if it should announce itself to the world or lay curled up for a while longer. A stubble peeked out from his cheek, not yet fully formed beard : half fuzz, half trepidation at the thought of being mowed down later in the day.

If you want to name this half-hearted regular Joe, you could call him Joe. All life was limbo to this Joe. Where would he rather be, if not here and now ? He was constantly in touch with his friends online : even in the midst of his friends in flesh. At any given time he was here - and not here.

And this element of half-ness percolates into other aspects of his life as well. Half-caff, half-sleeves, half-awake : damn, if Fight Club had to happen to anyone, it had to happen to him!

Watching AR Rahman Live in Concert

2017-10-08T05:19:00.000+05:30

The Build-Up

The fish does not compose poetry about the water it lives in. It is hard to wax lyrical about a man's compositions which have become the soundtrack, the heartbeat and the driving engine to your life.

Pre-gamed for the concert by listening to ARR's tracks from the 90s upto the early noughties. I still maintain that Alaipyuthey remains his last truly great work of art. He has produced numerous singles since, but this movie marks a clear divide between his early music : rhythmic synthesis of the classical and western from his latter work : breathtakingly futuristic, sometimes at the risk of being unrelatable and incomprehensible. Of course there are exceptions in his latter day music. Fans would know.

This concert will not be a moment of personal catharsis : not an attempt at closure, not a longstanding dream about to come true : there is absolutely no sense of exhilarated impatience. All these emotions punctuate the moments preceding the rendezvous of separate entities. I can speak for at least a section of the Rahman fan base when I say that never have we felt disconnected, separate or distant from him. How could we, when we still have his songs from the 90s ?

The Journey

It is a 45 minute train journey from where I stay to the auditorium. I was traveling with two others, one of whom, called V, is a die-hard fan. No sooner had we reached Richmond station (Melbourne), did we begin to notice the percolation of concert-goers all around us. Phew. Right place, right time.

Picked two hot jam doughnuts from the food store. The arena had a festive feel to it. A few patrons had decided to sit on the carpeted floor in a cozy circle and began to partake their snacks.

The Experience

Nothing unexpected. Nothing at all. I knew there would be a 50-year old boy playing on stage, still as shy and soft-spoken as he must have been on the day he accepted the award for the best ad-jingle for Leo Coffee in 1991.
He finished his short introduction by "hoping" that we enjoyed the show. Humility.

My musical experience felt complete once I had heard Pachai Kiligal Tholodu, Columbus Columbus and Entrendrum Punnagai. If I had been asked to go home then, I would have happily abided. The maestro saved some of his best for the last. The moment he broke into a soulful "Marhabaa..", the already bubbling crowd erupted in a frenzy.

It was mind-boggling to see the calm with which he went about his work on the stage : just as if it was 2 AM at the Panchathan Recording Inn on a mid-90's day in Madras; as if there were no one around but he and his team of musicians. No showmanship. Nothing phony.

The Isai Puyal doused us in 25 years worth of nostalgia. Bliss.

The Details

There were 2 ladies on the row in front of us who were singing along to every song. The only song they didn't sing along to was Munbe Vaa : one of them started crying as the song started and the other tried to console her.

Haricharan can sing in Tamil, Hindi, Telugu and can dance well.

Neeti Mohan and Jonita Gandhi began proceedings as the female playback singers but Neeti stole the show during the second half.

After the concert, it was time for some post-performance analysis and more time-traveling with V. Recon at V's place for tea before calling it quits for the day and returning home.

Every Thursday Has A Story #17

2017-09-09T06:54:00.000+05:30

[The phrase waddled into my head after a series of 5 Thursdays five years ago. Each of those Thursdays stood out splendidly from the rest of the week; each of 'em gave me a story worth remembering. Many Thursdays have passed since and the fact that I expect a Thursday to have a story somehow makes it happen.]

Monsoon to Winter. Desktop to Supercomputer. First year of PhD to second. From an institute that never promotes itself to one that has billboards along its fences. From Mumbai (Powai) to Melbourne (Clayton).

A change in nomenclature as far as the departments are concerned, but my research area continues to be polymer rheology. The workflow hasn't changed much since I moved here 2 months ago : ideation followed by analytical calculation and finally coding. The pace of work definitely seems to have quickened.

C'est la vie. Here is a lowdown on some other aspects.

Book of the Moment : "Genius : The Life and Science of Richard Feynman" by James Gleick. A must read for every scientist. The overarching scientific theme seems to be Feynman's insistence on - and prodigious aptitude for - visualizing his equations, visualizing the solution.
As a chemical engineering undergrad, I had learnt to look at turbulence statistically : for example, there was no single value for the fully developed velocity. There was a distribution of velocities clustered around a mean value. Feynman, when developing his theory for turbulence in supercooled helium, could predict and visualize streamlines using his equations.

The other striking characteristic is his insistence on scientific honesty, with the caveat that such an honesty requires exertion. It is not about correcting your experiments till the results look right. Feynman poses an intriguing question to a budding researcher : Would you know when to stop checking/correcting/modifying your readings if you were not allowed to look at your results to make that decision ? Every scientist must learn to answer this question sooner or later.

A corollary to this spirit of honesty is being open about your failures : the ability to point out the flaws in your reasoning and judgement when you have identified them.

James Gleick brings out the essence while remaining as unobtrusive as a biographer could be. Phenom.

Flick of the moment : The Big Sick. Kumail Nanjiani plays himself as an up-and-coming stand-up comedian in a story based on his life. There are a few scenes in which one feels he is trying too hard, to turn every line into a joke; but may be that's how all stand-up comedians talk ?
However, the jokes are well-timed and delivered with the deadest-of-dead-pan expressions --thus accentuating the humor quotient further. It was heartening to see Aidy Bryant from SNL put in an appearance as well.
Cliches are kept to a minimum. Ray Romano pulls off a virtuoso performance. A light, warm, Friday-evening watch : as comforting as a bag of popcorn with roughly the same mental exertion required.

Tune(s) of the moment : Saint Motel. It is cruelly impossible for me to have to pick one tune to highlight from this crew's offerings. From "Cold Cold Man" to "Move" to "Ace in the Hole" and "For Elise", the beats never lose their tautness, or the rhythm its freshness. The songs sound like John Green's novellas set to music. The last time I was so blown away by the offerings of a single band was when The Neighborhood dropped "Sweater Weather" in 2013. NBHD is a tad bit sombre. Saint Motel is the musical equivalent of a tiramisu.

Gyaan of the moment [Not really] : "I like being photographed because it proves that I exist" #Todd Chavez, Bojack Horseman.

Every Thursday Has A Story #16

2017-01-05T21:56:00.000+05:30

[The phrase waddled into my head after a series of 5 Thursdays four years ago. Each of those Thursdays stood out splendidly from the rest of the week; each of 'em gave me a story worth remembering. Many Thursdays have passed since and the fact that I expect a Thursday to have a story somehow makes it happen.]

It's been a December of missed Linux shebangs, symbolic links, GPU libraries, learning about : LDFLAGS, dependencies and root privileges, missed dinners; of scalding dal khichdi and hot chocolate; of desktops, rooftops, tabletops and bus stops - culminating in the successful installation of ESPResSo MD. 2016 was a screaming banshee of a toddler that had to be put to bed. No way was she going away quietly.

There's a bald, pleasant, middle-aged worker in the department office whom I wish "Good Morning" every day as I sign the attendance register. Was surprised to hear that his ringtone was Ke$ha's "Tik Tok". That song is now more than 6 years old. Whoa.

I had finished reading Rebus' "Standing in Another Man's Grave" a while ago. There's a part where Rankin compares the showers of Edinburgh to tears mourning the absence of Siobhan. Priceless imagery served piping hot.

Once again, pithy advice from a random T-shirt on IIT Bombay's campus. Listed at the end of this post.

Good food -->Good books -->Good friends -->Old music -->Good Talk -->Good Science(?). Hopefully.

Book of the moment : "It Happened In India"
Gyaan of the moment : "Only dead fish go with the flow"

Book Review : 24 ருபாய் தீவு [24 Rupee Island]

2016-12-22T09:00:00.002+05:30

By no means is this the best Sujatha novel I've read : that will always be Kolaiyuthir Kaalam (An Autumn of Murders). By no means is this the funniest product from S' assembly line : that will always be Aathalinaal Kaathal Seiveer(Therefore, Fall in Love). In no case is this as intriguing as Maaya, nor as surreal as Pirivom Santhippom(Let's Depart and Meet Again). And yet, this is the first Sujatha book that has prompted me to write a review. Here's why.

24 ருபாய் தீவு traces the life of a young journalist who becomes unwittingly involved in a murder saga that sends political reverberations across the state. His struggle to unearth the truth and establish his righteousness forms the crux of the story.

There are no typical Sujatha twists to this story : the book is a panoramic exhibition of his writing prowess - his ability to make the new seem familiar and the familiar seem new.It is a microcosm of all the factors that make Sujatha's writing so irresistible.

The lawyer duo - Ganesh and Vasanth - make a brief appearance, only to be pulled away quickly, leaving the onus on Vishwanath, our hero, to sort out his problems.

When Vish (his boss calls him that in the book) is held in police custody, Sujatha takes you right to the scene of action. You can see the dim yellow lights and feel the smell of urea bringing tears to the eyes of the protagonist.

Other books by the same author have captured scientific inquiry, intrigue, romance and light-heartedness in general measure but nowhere has the man captured the struggles of a lone good samaritan against a machinery run by crooks. Amidst all the brouhaha, the writer makes us heave a mighty sigh of temporary relief when the hero takes a moment out from his high-octane life to grab a chocolate sundae outside the State Legislature or play Scrabble with his sisters.

Like all Sujatha stories, there is, inexorably, a beautiful lady with an exotic Sanskrit name. Nrupangi ("Call me Rupa") makes a brief appearance and sets Vish's heart aflutter before leaving him suspended on a metaphorical rope taut with hope.

There's an angry,young, hopeful hero banging on cellulosic, black and white walls to be let out. Will any director take heed ?

Book Review : Harry Potter And The Cursed Child

2016-11-27T22:50:00.001+05:30

[I was gifted a copy of this book on November 19th. What is special about the date ? It is International Men's Day. To commemorate my manhood, I was being presented with a book title straight out of my boyhood days. What seemed ironic about the whole ordeal actually made a lot of sense once I was done reading it. Here's why]

I had firmly turned my back on the HP series. I was happy with how Book 7 ended. I just hoped JK Rowling would achieve the same sense of closure with respect to this title. She just can't seem to let go. Nonetheless, collaborating with John Tiffany and Jack Thorne, she has managed to churn out a masterclass in screenplay writing.

The HP series was always heavy on details. Adverbs, particularly, seemed to be JKR's favorite part of speech. So it was refreshing to see such a stripped down version of the same story and characters elicit the same strong emotions that their full-blown characterizations once drew from us. The dialogues are punchy, engaging, terse and pithy - exactly when they need to be.

[Spoiler alert : Skip this paragraph if you want to read absolutely nothing about the plot-line before touching the book]

My personal favorite is an exchange between Hermione and Severus in an alternate timeline. Granger looks at Snape pitifully when she learns that he is killed in another timeline. Snape looks worried for a second, then shoots a glance at Ron before turning back to Granger and mouthing : "At least I'm not married to him". Kudos, JKR. I'm looking forward to the day when you make a movie with the Coen brothers!

With as less background detailing as necessary, the book manages to capture the troubled relationship between Harry and his son, Albus Severus. This book is as much a study in adult relationships as it is about wands and ponies(uh-centaurs : whatever) and Augerys. It also succeeds in creating and maintaining tension at the end of each scene. The last page of every act/chapter does not end neatly with a bow on top of it. It quivers tremulously, waiting for impatient fingers to relieve it off the suspense waiting to unfold.

The miscommunication between Harry and Albus Severus is the creative engine - the thumping heartbeat- that makes this book come alive. Feelings that even the Muggles, men, especially, can understand.

Final word ? It is a 330 page light-read that can be finished in one afternoon. If not for anything, read it for JKR and team's masterful wordplay and some dialogues so acerbic that they leave scratch marks on your cortex.