Much Ado About Nothing

Safaris make strange jeep-fellows

2013-12-15T17:22:00.001+05:30

Last week was a very relaxing one for me after many, in a year where far too many changes have taken place. It was also Shilpa's and my first vacation for the year - certainly due for a long time.

It was a week-long vacation to three places in Karnataka. The last place we went to was the Kabini River Lodge, on the banks of the river Kabini and adjoining the Nagarhole Forest Reserve, about 80 km from Mysore. The piece de resistance was of course a jeep safari into the jungles at Nagarhole, in search of leopards and tigers, as well as an assortment of other flora and fauna. Kabini serves all comers regardless of their interests - bird enthusiasts, tiger-hunters (in a benign way, of course - no animals were killed in the writing of this post), leopard butterflies, butterfly chasers, etc., all place Kabini high on their list of places to visit again.

We were at Kabini for 2 days, during which we went on four jeep safaris through the Nagarhole jungle. All of the safaris were great experiences in themselves (I'll definitely visit again), but they also afforded me the opportunity to see first-hand the different kinds of people that go on safaris. Like many things in life, there were 7 distinct character traits on display (of course, some all-rounder types such as yours truly may have attained high skill in multiple traits among the below):

1. Happy Campers (HC)

These guys are here for the experience. They aren't the materialistic and petty visitors for whom success is a number of animals they saw; they are there, literally, for the ride. Whether they see any interesting species of flora or fauna is immaterial to them (although it must be said that there is a surprisingly high correlation between such equanimous behavior and not having seen any animals). This is, for instance, how a HC who was with me in the jeep would have described our jungle sortie:

"The time being November, only a couple of months after very heavy rains, the jungle was very green and fragrant, and a strong envelope of freshness pervaded the scene. The ride itself was exhilarating and refreshing, as we bounded through a jungle abounding with the musical harmony of crows cawing, mynas chirping, woodpeckers pecking, babblers babbling, djangos trilling, and eagles… well the eagles didn't do much. The jungle and its inhabitants were so content and joyful in themselves, it even felt a little voyeuristic to witness them in their natural habitat. Thank God we didn't see a tiger or leopard - I can't explain it, but it would have diminished the experience somewhat."

What do you do when someone tells you this - congratulate or commiserate? Or maybe you should gently tell them that django is not a bird, but a cowboy in a recent movie they've seen (or if they were me, a cowboy in a recent movie his wife made him walk out of). Anyway, these guys take several pains to show they're not in it for the animals, including trying to take pictures with an ancient handycam from a bouncing vehicle. You know the pictures will at best pretend to be surrealist paintings with a mish-mash of colors, and at worst be, well, horrid. But it doesn't matter one centime, for they're in it only for the experience. Always fun to be around, this band of merry men is all you need after a luckless day in the forest. They'll make you cheer up and drive a spike into your forehead.

2. Snappy Campers (SC)

These guys are here for the shots. If they catch a glimpse of a tiger disappearing into the undergrowth, their first (and second and third) reaction is of disappointment - "I wish he'd stayed long enough for me to put together my camera, its humongously heavy telescopic lens, and sandbags for me to keep me from toppling forwards as I try to take a photo…". A conversation in the jeep during the safari would go thus:

Guide: Hey look, a leopard!

SC: Wow, wait let me take a picture!

[some tinkering sounds ensue for 65 seconds, followed by a click].

SC: Hey guys, take a look at this picture I took of the leopard's eyes! Doesn't it look good?

Non-SC: Uhh… (probably because he / she was too intent in looking at the leopard)

SC: [Click] How does this one look? Doesn't the tiger's demeanor come out so perfectly?

Non-SC: Uhh… you mean leopard… uhh…

SC: Damn, I wish I had a bigger lens. I could have taken a great photo of its nostrils then.

Guide: Shhh!

SC: Guideji, which camera is the best for wildlife photography?

Guideji: If you don't keep quiet, I'll throw you to the wolves.

SC: Wow, that would make for a cool photo!

Animal Planet (see trait no. 5): Wow! There are wolves here?

Guideji: Sigh…

One Snappy Camper in a jeep is more than enough, usually. But two Snappy Campers, especially in a jungle that is unusually quiet, can make for really interesting conversations. Fun to hear them exchanging notes about the different animals they saw through their lenses in different parts of the country - "Deal! You send me your leopard photos from Kabini and I'll send you my tiger photos from Bandhavgarh." But it's even more fun when they start comparing their lenses, and invariably begin to exchange phallic rebukes, including the classic - "Mine is bigger than yours." [hat tip to Sigmund Freud]

3. Want-a-Tiger (WaT)

These very interesting chaps have made it their life's mission (at least when they're traveling. To forest reserves. That have tigers) to see a tiger. It doesn't matter what else they see - a tiger is the shits. Proprietors of jungle lodges really hate these guys - hard as it is to market new ways of spending money to the alert Indian traveler, it becomes doubly hard to make these guys open their pocket-folds to you.

Proprietor: Sir, you should definitely try the boat safari, now that you're going to be with us for 4 days.

WaT: Hmm. Sounds interesting. Can you see a tiger during the boat safari?

Proprietor: A tiger? No sir, tigers in these parts don't swim much in the river. They're landlubbers mostly.

WaT: In that case, I'm not interested in the boat safari.

Proprietor: Never mind, sir. But you should definitely go for an Ayurvedic massage here. Try the Pandava-massage if you have time - here, five of our best masseurs will massage you together.

WaT: Pandava-massage? Sounds very interesting. Do you think I can see a tiger during the massage?

Proprieter: Wat are you saying, WaT? Of course you can't.

WaT: In that case, I'm not interested in the Pandava-massage.

[Proprietor suffers a sudden stroke, and some of his staff scurry over to carry him away, with a stretcher lying handy for just the purpose]

After a while, they can also begin to grate on their companions on the safari (as I began to grate on my wife):

Wife: Look, a leopard!

WaT: Damn it! Now we'll spend half an hour here, and blow our chances of seeing a tiger!

Wife: Honey, this is a leopard sanctuary.

WaT: Wat the @#$%@#$! Why didn't you tell me this before??

Still, I hope that the WaT in my family sees a tiger soon, at least so that the rest of us can enjoy the safaris more.

4. Seen-a-Tiger (SaT)

Now, this is another type of jeep-fellow that I've had the opportunity of observing at length, happening that my wife belongs to this much-envied and much-hated group. These individuals, if you haven't been able to run away from them in time, lose no chance to remind you that they belong to the hallowed and eclectic clique of people who have achieved the near-impossible - they've seen a tiger in the wild. Sample this:

Wife: [at start of safari] Well, for what it's worth, I do hope you see a tiger this time. You've been waiting too long for this. As for me, I saw 3 tigers on my first safari in Corbett.

Wife: [at end of safari] Well, too bad this time. Maybe tomorrow you'll have better luck. I think you should go to Corbett - you'll definitely see a tiger there. Oh wait, you've already been there…

As you can imagine, it's a little difficult to run away from this SaT when you're sitting next to her in a jeep. Not so hard to strangle her though…

Another unique trait of this group of people is their generosity in showing an interest towards non-tiger animals.

SaT: Man, I really hope we get to see some wild dogs today!

HC: Wild dogs… interesting. How do they look?

SaT: Oh, just like regular stray dogs in the city.

HC: Sure, why not? I'm here for the ride.

Me: Grr…

5. Animal Planet (AP)

Closely related to the SaTs, this genus of safari-goers are treasure troves of information about all things living. The only way in which they, in fact, differ from treasure troves is that unlike the regular treasure trove, you don't want this one to divulge its riches to you (at least not in the middle of a safari). An alternate name for this trivia-trove is Main Banoonga Crorepati (I want to be a Millionaire).

Guideji: Look, can you see the sambar deer over there? Now look about 100m farther - a tiger is stalking it.

AP: Can you guys see the red spot on the sambar's throat? It's called a sore throat - it happens when the sambar's young bite it while playing.

Non-AP: ahan….

Guideji: Shhh!

AP: You know, when a tiger is on the prowl, the langur is the first one to notice, and begins to call out to the other forest-dwellers. Try shushing that!

One also has to be wary of this creature when the game is afoot and the tension heightens. Picture this - A leopard is on the prowl, and someone has witnessed it walking into the bushes. Soon, three enterprising safari jeeps make their way to the other side of the bushes, and wait in rapt rapture for the leopard to appear. A envelope of silence pervades the scene, so taut that you could stick the proverbial pin in it. At this critical juncture, the AP (also known as the Wife in this case) is liable to cry out, "Look! A V-tailed mongoose!" Guideji interjects, "Shh! One more peep out of you and I'll throw you to the wolv… Dammit! Here we go again." "What, wolves! Are there wolves here??"

6. Waisa Bhi Hota Hai Part III

You'll be really lucky is someone from this elite clan is in your safari jeep. This awesome and attractive fraternity is so awesome and attractive that its awesomeness and attractiveness cannot be bounded by a petty acronym. Members of this group get along very well with APs and SaTs - they always have an interesting fact or two about the place beyond the sea and the restaurant at the end of the universe.

WaT: Man, it's so hard to see any animals here. Such disappointment.

HC: Chill dude, I'm here for the ride.

Waisa Bhi Hota Hai Part III: You know, things would have been different at Masai Mara in Kenya. I'd gone there for a weekend once. There, you can see all the big game so peacefully. I did only two safaris (it was a quick trip), but I saw 5 lions, 12 leopards, 25 giraffes, 35 zebra, etc.

AP: Wow….

Waisa Bhi Hota Hai Part III: Yup. And you should definitely go there during the wildebeest migration, and do a balloon safari. Picture this - the wildebeest crossing the river with massive crocodiles snapping at their heels, and a pack of lions waiting on the other side. Somebody's gonna get hurt real bad! And you'd have an aerial view. Anyway, I'm planning to go next weekend - aati kya?

AP: Marry me!

WaT: Wat the #@$#$@#$! Tu Vijay Mallya ka bhanja hai kya?

But this group doesn't restrict its pontification to animals alone. Members, given an opportunity (or if they grab one), do hold forth on some other aspects of the good life.

Waisa Bhi Hota Hai Part III: Guideji, tell me, how long do teak trees take to grow so tall?

Guideji: About 40 years in the wild. Why you ask?

Waisa Bhi Hota Hai Part III: Just wanted to check, since I'd planted 50 teak trees in my backyard recently.

Guideji: Well, in domestic settings, they grow much quicker. 10 years tops.

Waisa Bhi Hota Hai Part III: Jeez man! I hope they don't prevent my DIY micro-jets from taking off from my airstrip.

7. Babies (B)

Notwithstanding the fear that some of the above traits instill in the hearts of even-tempered safari-goers, Babies form the single-most feared group at forest reserves. Close relatives, Cry-Babies, are also a painful clan, always whining about how early in the morning they would have to get up to come on the safari. A redeeming factor with the latter, of course, is that they often do not get up to come on safaris. The former, however, can very quickly obliterate a successful safari.

Imagine this - the guide spots a leopard 100m away at 12 o'clock and immediately stops the jeep. To top that, there's a herd of deer at 2 o' clock, right in the leopard's eye-line. Barely able to contain his excitement, the guide shushes the company - this promises to be one of his glory days. The leopard, for his part, decides to put on a show for his guests. Stalking like a ninja (and like a BOSS) towards the unsuspecting deer, he smirks contemptuously about the fate of his soon-to-be prey, stopping for a moment to indulge the frenzied Snappy Camper. Photos taken, he continues on the home stretch, when suddenly, the Baby's sudden squeal pierces the air, leaving the rest of us (save one) in a somewhat ambiguous position.

Leopard: Wtf just happened! [whimpers]

Deer: [noticing the leopard] Ai phatli teri!

Leopard: [walks back into the bushes with his tail between his legs]

SC: [looking up from his camera] Wait! What happened! [and promptly falls forward under the weight of his lens]

WaT: Good, now that the leopard is gone, maybe we can go find a tiger instead. Wat say, folks? Shall we? Please?

HC: Chill man, I'm here for the ride. I guess.

AP / SaT: Guideji, why did the leopard just walk away? And why are the deer jeering?

Guideji: [unambiguously shoots himself]

Waisa Bhi Hota Hai Part III: I think this is gonna be one hell of a story. Maybe I should put it in my blog...

In the long term…

2011-07-16T15:55:00.000+05:30

It’s been three years and a bit since I read and loved Catch-22. It was quite a rewarding experience, and I spent the next few months searching for Joseph Heller’s other books at the Landmark and Oxford bookstores in Mumbai (this was before the flipkart and eBook era). I found 2-3 other books, but the enthusiasm flagged – unsurprisingly, Heller found it impossible to top his first and seminal achievement. In fact, legend has it that when a reporter approached Heller in his twilight years and mentioned that he hadn’t been able to recreate the magic of Catch-22, Heller retorted, “Who has?” Nevertheless, both were right – the later books tried hard to capture the same banter and spirit that made the first book famous, without meeting anywhere near the same level of success. I never finished any of these books.

However, I decided to try again, and I picked up Closing Time, which is the sequel to Catch-22, never mind that it was written 33 years later. Presumably, never seeing the same success again, Heller decided to bring back his tried-and-tested characters. A wise decision – this book is a neat follow through to Catch-22. While the one explores the futility of war, the other exposes the futility of the glorious reality that victory in the war helped shape. It expertly deconstructs the so-called ‘American dream’, painting a stark landscape of human life. Yes, there’s a little bit of old-fashioned “Look at what the people have done with the world we fought for”, but Heller sensibly desists from ranting too much.

As the book seems to say, there are three ways to die (with some overlap): (1) War; (2) Old age; (3) Some human’s stupidity. It is as if the author tells Yossarian (the protagonist of the first book), “Congratulations! You didn’t die during the war! Never mind, you’ll die anyway. Do you want to guess how?” There is no element of the ‘If it’s not happy, it’s not the end’, or the ‘it’s always darkest before dawn’ that one hears at low points in fluff romantic movies. Rather, it’s the more dismal (and realistic) ‘Life will try to knock you down. If you are strong, you will stand up. But no matter how many times you do, the knocks will keep coming. And coming.’ While I was contemplating this message, and yes I do this a lot, I realized why I find it so attractive. Consider the following fable:

"Alas," said the mouse, "the whole world is growing smaller every day. At the beginning it was so big that I was afraid, I kept running and running, and I was glad when I saw walls far away to the right and left, but these long walls have narrowed so quickly that I am in the last chamber already, and there in the corner stands the trap that I must run into." "You only need to change your direction," said the cat, and ate it up.

A (very) short story by Kafka, this sums up why I find his work so funny and captivating. And the essence is the same – “it’s the trap or the cat for you, my friend. Choose well.” So much for this choice – in lazier moods, I would call this a catch-22 and applaud my own intelligence.

The cycle of life continues, with scarce respect to the trials and tribulations of the human existence. Every now and then, you win a lottery, forge a path-breaking deal or write a bestseller – you think you’ve arrived. No matter – the wheels of existence chug remorselessly on, and before you know it, you wake up tied to the tracks, with a few slow and painful seconds to contemplate your life before death arrives. Dog eat dog, cat eat mouse – life goes on, and will go on regardless of your participation in it.

The timeless Tom and Jerry shows try to tell us something similar. But alas, we don’t get it at all. Children (young and old alike) see how resourceful Jerry is, and imagine themselves being similarly heroic. A few bored adults comment sadly that such cartoons introduce violence very early in children’s lives. But not a soul sees that no matter what Jerry does, Tom keeps coming after him. He has been coming after Jerry since 1940, and when I last switched on my television, there he was, still after Jerry. And he will keep coming. No matter how many shrewd engineering contraptions of ever-rising complexity Jerry fashions to keep Tom at bay, Tom will reply with more and more diabolical schemes to trick or force Jerry into his wide-open mouth. And he will eventually succeed and Jerry will be no more, just like our favorite superheroes. And us.

Heroes – Chapter 1

2011-05-15T10:25:00.002+05:30

So, in the throes of typhoid, I finally decided to write a blog post - a story. I call this 'Chapter 1', although I don't know whether there will ever be a Chapter 2. Anyway, please comment on the outcome of my delirium...

____________________________________________________________________

Hey there. I am Superman. Really, I am. All right, but I do have a couple of superhuman powers – actually, maybe just one. Still don't understand? Well then, let me explain it to you like a six-year old. I have an interesting skill acquired through years of dedication, right from childhood. I measure stuff. Better than anyone you've seen.

It all started when I first learnt about numbers. My mother still remembers fondly, "We taught you the first ten numbers when you were three. And you know what you said – 5 and a half (the average of the first 10 numbers). At that moment, we knew we were onto a blessed child." And boy, did they show me off! We had visitors every weekend – and they always had the same questions for me. "What's the mode of 1-20? Good. Now tell me the temperature of that apple. Well, you must be right. What's your dad's weight? Haha, all right, we won't go there." My parents inculcated another habit in me during my formative years. Every night, I used to drink milk and sleep at 9. Soon, these habits became ingrained. In fact, during the milk rationing, I had a lot of trouble sleeping initially. But wonder of wonders, I soon adapted, and my body soon began to secrete lactose automatically. Maybe I can also alter genes. Note to self – should add that to my roster of superpowers.

Anyway, my life was quite eventful because of my superpower. Please don't nitpick – skill-superpower, potato-potaato, etc. In my tweens, we used to go to our farm in Rayalseema a lot. My father always asked me to tell him the speed of the wind. Then he asked me when rain would come, and the expected rainfall. Initially it was an interesting pastime. But when we saw that my accuracy was remarkable, my dad started taking me to the farm EVERY summer vacation. "You want to go to the travelling circus next month? Let's make a plan! Actually wait, that's in May, during your vacation. We'll be at the farm, creating food for people to eat! Don't feel bad now, I know it's hard. You have a gift, but it's also a curse. Such is your destiny." God, I hated those sentences.

My mother is a hardy Tamilian woman. And nowhere was this more evident than when she went shopping for vegetables and fruits. Sometime in my early teens, she hit upon an idea. She started taking me with her. First she'd bargain the price down. Then, once the vendor gave her a kilogram of apples, she'd have me weigh it with my hands. Of course, to make a margin on the by-now ridiculously low price, the vendor had used faulty weights. During the first few times, bitter battles ensued. So she borrowed authentic weights from a neighbor, till all the vendors in the area were aware and apprehensive of my reputation. She was also fun-loving – so she started telling me to hide behind a tree. And after reducing the price, she'd say, "I'll have to believe you this time. My son is playing cricket. And once he'd smile and give her the fruits – out I'd come from behind the tree!" Many a night was full of mirth about her latest escapade. Of course, cricket I never played – my mom always shopped in the early evenings when the streets came to life. Another blight on my very interesting life.

There was one time I said, "Hang it all. Let me do something really ordinary for a change." I knew that people used to sing and play musical instruments at railway stations for money. Some were really good at singing "Chahoonga main tujhe, saanj savere". But most were hardly up to acceptable standards, to put it mildly. Estimating an opportunity (see what I did there), I started standing around at stations. I'd tell passers-by, "Give me a few coins. Without looking at them, I'll guess their denominations." Unsurprisingly, in retrospect, customers weren't exactly open to seeing the trick after they'd unhanded their money. Then, I started standing at food stalls telling people, "Let me hold your samosa. I'll tell you its weight and temperature." That didn't work either – wonder why. I used to wash my hands everyday – their dubious looks at my hands weren't warranted at all. Soon I accepted defeat and came back to the real world, as it were.

People started coming to me to save a trip to the dentist for a biannual checkup. I'd run a finger over their teeth and say – "Hmm. You have cavities on your pre-molars and your first molar on the left side of your lower jaw. You should get them filled. But the cavities in your upper jaw have all healed – good work! You may need to fill cavities on the right side of your lower jaw, but you still have time for that. Brush well – there's some food stuck between your canines and pre-molars. That's it. Oh, and you have a wisdom tooth coming – maybe you'll be smarter when we meet next. Haha, just kidding!" Soon, I started diagnosing my own teeth as well – my dentist bills were always lower than the mean of my demographic.

There's only one problem. I can't measure my own temperature. I could tell other people's temperatures fine by holding their hands, to the tenth of a degree. But when it came to mine, I just couldn't. When I touched my temple with my index finger, my brain calculated a temperature. Unfortunately, I did not know what my hand's temperature was. I knew scientifically that fingers are usually colder than necks or temples. But therein lies the rub. Regardless of whether I feel hale and hearty or sick as a small boy suffering a relapse of chicken pox (people say you get it only once, but I got it twice!), my hands would always be slightly colder. My friend at Infosys calls it 'recursion', and says it's a very complex structure to create. He clearly doesn't know jack – its well nigh impossible. I tried many tactics. First, I bought an apple and checked its temperature (with my hand). Then I put it to my forehead for two minutes, and then kept it aside for two minutes. Then I lifted it again and estimated the temperature. But that didn't really work either – my hands were measuring the temperature, and I didn't know their temperature! Told the wife "I want to hold your hand", and then held her hand. Then kept it on my forehead for two minutes. After two minutes (you guessed it) held it again. That didn't work either. Bloody recursion!

But wait! I think I've got it. I'll go buy a thermometer and use it to absorb my temperature. Then I'll touch the thermometer with my hand to check its temperature. Yeah I know I don't know the temperature of my hand yet. You're nitpicking again – I'll just check the thermometer's reading to correct for measurement errors. And it's done. Eureka! Harmony restored, at long last, on Planet Krypton. Then I slept.

Fat-Tailed Reality

2010-09-25T14:31:00.004+05:30

I’ve just read Ramzy Baroud’s My Father was a Freedom Fighter – a riveting, heart-rending story of a family’s journey through the years of Palestine’s siege. As I turned the pages towards the unalterable end, almost willing the pages and the story to metamorphose, I realized that this is yet another validation, and the starkest one yet, of the fact that there is no justice in the real world, and there’s no meaning to anything. For if there is meaning, what the hell is it? Actually, I’m being unnecessarily abject; of course there is meaning. It’s that life, like all things with more than 30 units (or, as in this case, people), is approximately a normal distribution (click only if unsure what this is). To be precise, reality is akin to a normal distribution, albeit with slightly fat tails (the origin of this post’s title, also a poor excuse of a takeoff on the name of one of rock band Queen’s greatest hits). Any other meanings are but our enterprisingly creative minds trying to ascribe causality (just like CNBC TV-18 tries to reason out every 0.01% change in the Sensex). I often think that this ability to identify reasons, to rationalize, is mankind’s single most valuable trait; for it pushes us to work and back every day, it pushes us to get married, have kids, anything to mask the boredom of spending on Earth 60-80 periods of its revolution around the Sun.

Please let me expound (like I’m really asking for permission) on the normal distribution issue a little more. What do I mean exactly? I mean that, of the total population in the world, some will have unbelievable luck. Some will have similarly unbelievable bad luck. Others (like you and me. Or just me – I’m not pushy) wallow in our mediocrity, staring at the sky, and wondering why that cloud is shaped like a horse, and why that other one is shaped like a giant hand flicking someone.

Now, who the hell has unbelievable luck? You know a few of them (not too many mind you, this is after all a close-to-normal distribution). You may not realize the extent of their luck, given your penchant for, and expertise at, attributing reasons and skill. But they’re there. I won’t name any very famous people, coz that can get ugly. Instead, think about the guy who won INR 1 cr. on Kaun Banega Karorpati. Or the woman who cleaned up on the slot machines at the Grand Lisboa casino the other day. Or, in fact, all the ladies and gentlemen they describe in self-help books like The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People, Unlimited Power, Awaken the Giant Within, The Power of Positive Thinking, etc. (How are there so many such books?? It’s like a giant ship loaded with self-help books pushed itself towards the shores of humankind and autonomously unloaded them, and we, a free-thinking populace, helped ourselves to the multitudes of brilliant tomes! Anyway, another rant, another day).

Bad luck? For starters, the 1.5M Palestinians that Mr. Baroud alludes to in his book. In all my cynicism, I cannot but feel my eyes well up as I approach the final pages. As they say in Hindi, hum apne dushmanon ke liye bhi aisi dashaa na maange (‘We wouldn’t wish this fate even for our enemies’). Or, to a much, much smaller extent, the guy who spends the greater part of a year imbibing the habits of Great Person A and Great Person B, but doesn’t ‘make a million in 5 days’. Instead, he loses the price of the book, the space the book takes up in his home / office, and the time he spent in front of the mirror ensuring that the transformation to Great Person A or Great Person B is complete. Or even the dinosaurs, who, no doubt, searched for a higher meaning and purpose during their existence – little did they know that their fate, seemingly, was ‘not without a sense of irony’ (definitely check the link – its hilarious, but in a very sad way. Thanks, Abstruse Goose and Rukesh).

So where does that leave all of us – in the middle? We were blissfully unaware of reality, and were cheerfully achieving our mundane goals and breaking our New Year resolutions. And we were happy. But now I’ve gone and spoilt it (sorry, should have put up a ‘Spoilers be here’ warning at the beginning of the post). Or have I? For I think that this realization brings peace of mind, lack of attachment; in fact, it brings Zen – of some sort anyway. We can go through life in the knowledge that whatever will happen, will happen. We are but pawns at the mercy of a being running an infinitely huge, infinitely fast, coin-tossing machine (if you believe in God), or of an infinitely huge, infinitely fast, coin-tossing perpetual motion machine (if you don’t). You’ll do your best anyway (what if I’m miserably wrong), and can yet be serene irrespective of the outcome. You can say, like the Tralfamadorians do, ‘So it goes’.

And to cap it all, the heavens turn grey and it starts to rain

2009-12-12T22:25:00.001+05:30

After a long sabbatical enforced purely by extreme laziness disguised as equally extreme over-workedness, I have finally been motivated to post – about one of the greatest authors of the 20^th century. While there are many others who may lay stake to the claim, I feel quite justified in saying that very few of these others had as much mastery of human emotion. As connoisseurs of Indian music say, no song is as melodious, or indeed, pulls at one's heart-strings as fervently, as does a Rafi song that's full of sadness; so too it may be said that Kafka alone, among his peers, has the ability to describe every emotion, in whole and in detail, in such a manner as to leave one spellbound.

Let's be clear – Kafka pulls no punches. He plows the depths of pathos. In some sense, he completes what Thomas Hardy begins – if the lives of Hardy's Jude and Henchard slowly descend unwaveringly into misery and obscurity, their Kafka-created counterparts are already there, leapfrogging more memorable and pleasant times. This isn't more clearly evident than in The Metamorphosis – Kafka's seminal work starts with the following line:

'When Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from troubled dreams, he found himself changed into a monstrous cockroach in his bed'

Neither does Samsa change back into a human at any point in the story, nor does he live happily ever after as do the ever-resilient vermin. That defines Kafka, this use of pain or relative misery as the starting point to his tale – and the end. Of course, his stories do often carry the promise of better times – but as often, they revert to hopelessness. Thou art from despair, and to despair thou wilt return.

At this point, one would just about be ready to dismiss him as an everyday fatalist, or, if one were particularly cruel, as a run-of-the-mill, throw-a-dart-and-you'll-hit-one, pessimist. But, as one would no doubt guess from my tone, one could not be more wrong. Kafka's stories do carry the hope of a change of luck, of a turn of fate, of the imminence of 'a final improvement in one's condition'. Whether they do (they don't) is a trivial matter, what leaves the reader struck is the manner in which Kafka follows and describes the protagonist's thoughts. He seems to have what it takes to find his way through the deepest and darkest labyrinthine passages of the human mind, and he isn't afraid of what he finds in them. Zen masters say that events are not happy or unhappy – both feelings are in the mind. This platitude, in a sense, symbolizes most of Kafka's stories (not all of them have the hero wake up to numerous tiny, vibrating legs). Events happen at the beginning of the story – they slowly and gradually affect the subjects, as the latter succumb to their thoughts.

And they slowly affect us too. Most readers, I'm sure, would come away with the opinion that Kafka's stories, with their minimalistic plots, are intensely allegorical. And in the vein of the Emperor and his new clothes, they would each pretend that they understood his work. But the truth, as Michael Hoffman puts it, is usually that 'We obscurely feel, we bet, we know that there is something more going on in a story, something probably to do with sex or violence or families or metaphysics, but we're damned if we know what it is.' The meta-story is sometimes relatively easy to decipher, as in The Judgment or An Old Journal; often, it is too abstruse for ordinary mortals.

While he doesn't shirk any morbidities in his writings (The Metamorphosis,
In the Penal Colony), he does, from time to time, allow himself to indulge in a little humor (For the Consideration of Amateur Jockeys), which makes him somewhat easier to stomach (but not too much). Most times, one enjoys, nay, is awe-struck by the manner in which he describes the dissolution of hope, and cruel disbandment of aspirations. As he says, 'There is infinite hope … but not for us'.

And this part of my life is called … reading books

2009-05-23T13:56:00.003+05:30

Since childhood, I've always been driven, like those characters in pulp paperbacks by Jeffrey Archer, et al. The only difference is that in contrast to those glorious heroes who have been driven singly by a sense of adventure or a sense of patriotism since 'as far back as they can remember'; I'm driven by different things on a day-to-day basis. Sometimes the urge to get out and do something is a little stronger, and lasts about a week. A week of smoldering tensions and plans and initiatives that never leave the drafting table.

I've also been fascinated by the act of collecting stuff, from 'as far back as I can remember'. When I was a kid, I was a stamp collector, like so many others. Ever the intellectual, I quickly reasoned that philately would be the easiest occupation for me, given that both my parents used to collect stamps when they were young, and had preserved their collections for posterity (and me). So, one day I decided that I would collect stamps, and the next day I had ~3000 of them. Some collection that! I think the seeds of the decline of this wonderful hobby of mine were laid when I visited a stamp exhibition at Nehru Center (which is what connoisseurs did, someone I prided myself on being). Much to my dismay, the exhibition also had an area where budding collectors could buy a packet of 1000 stamps for a very reasonable price. Not reasonable enough for me though (I had a very Spartan childhood, without any pocket money). I'd gone to this exhibition with a pal and his grand-dad. I enjoyed hanging out with this friend, as he had also just begun, and had a princely collection of 10 stamps. Our favorite occupation during our summer holidays was to pore over our collections. I would run through each one of my stamps and say, "Have you seen this one?" or "Guess which country this is from". After a couple of hours, he would say, "Let's look at my collection now." And 2 minutes later, he would go home. Much fun! People might wonder as to the relevance of this aside here, given that we were at the exciting juncture of my discovery that I didn't have money to buy stamps. Well, unlike yours truly, the friend used to receive pocket money. And approximately 10 minutes after my discovery, he had more stamps than me. His grand-dad offered to buy me a pack too, which I reluctantly refused because much though I adored stamps, I didn't care much for the beatings I would receive at home sweet home for accepting money from people. However, one shouldn't look at my parents in an unkind light. After all, they could have easily offered me pocket money to see if I accept it, and then proceeded to beat me; but they were clearly never that malicious.

Afternoons were not that much fun anymore, as he also had a (positively) boring collection now. Soon, I gave it up, and rummaging through my parents' old stuff, I became a veteran numismatist. Then, moving from coins to MP3s to E-books to movies over the years, I am now firmly a book collector. And over the past few months, I have taken up reading with a renewed vigor. The past week was exceptionally exceptional (what's this figure of speech called? Have I invented a new one?), as I am now 'driven' to read. Since last Sunday, I've read The Great Gatsby, William Golding's Lord of the Flies, The Little Prince (shouldn't really count, as this excellent book has probably fewer words than this post will end up containing), Umberto Eco's Faith in Fakes (another grueling chapter in my seemingly ill-fated and arduous struggle to become a stoic European erudite) and Slaughterhouse 5 by Kurt Vonnegut. While I thought that The Great Gatsby was overrated, the others were definitely worth the read. And I would assume that my less-than-ebullient response to the former is quite possibly a function of the different time and place for which it was penned, given that the book does count among the best ones written in the last century.

Both Slaughterhouse 5 and Lord of the Flies (similarity to Lord of the Rings begins and ends with the title) are excellent reads, and are both about war. They are also similar in that they both enjoy pride of place in TIME's list of best English novels since 1923, a pride they share, incidentally, with The Great Gatsby. In an event of pure chance, I was lucky to read these two not necessarily divergent but slightly dissimilar takes on war and human nature, within a short span of time. While Lord of the Flies was written in a dark, allegorical fashion, Vonnegut's book was a satire, intermingled with good-old 'aliens!' science fiction – two genres not often blended, I dare say. Vonnegut's protagonist, Billy Pilgrim, is sent to the war as a chaplain's assistant (a chaplain played a stellar role in Joseph Heller's Catch 22 as well, I seem to recall). There, stumbling from one misfortune to another, he ultimately reaches Dresden, a scene of one of the most equally horrific and ridiculous massacres at the hands of the US during World War II. The story is not linear, as Billy has 'come unstuck in time', i.e., without any control, he keeps meandering from one stage of his life to another. At some point in the interim, he believes he was abducted by aliens as well, from the planet Tralfamadore. While the author never says outright whether the alien abduction is a figment of Billy's imagination or not (he broadly hints that Billy is imagining it), the overall point he makes is about the lack of free will. While describing how absolutely unneeded the aerial attack on Dresden was (it killed almost double the number of people annihilated at Hiroshima), he also says that history would not have had it any other way. As one of his aliens puts it, Tralfamadorians have visited many planets across the breadth of the universe, but it is only on Earth that anyone believes in 'free will'. As the author and these incredibly gifted aliens would condescendingly say, "So it goes."

William Golding, in Lord of the Flies, talks about a group of kids (oldest being 12 years old) stranded on a remote island, with no escape. He describes starkly their descent into savagery, as lack of any societal encumbrances stimulates the surfacing of the baser instincts in children who were otherwise 'propah' English schoolboys. As the struggle for authority and survival continues, violent clashes of steadily increasing ferocity begin to take place among the children. How the book concludes is something that readers should find out for themselves. This storyline is an incredibly far cry from pre-war style; in James Barrie's Peter Pan stories of 1904, the Lost Boys engage in vivid adventures of many kinds, in a land where they never really lose their innocence – a startling example of the effects of the bloody unfolding of the 20^th century on the psyches of those who had the misfortune of partaking in the harrowing experience.

When I started writing a little while ago, both books seemed to be similar only insofar as both of them spoke of human nature, etc. But as I went on, I realized (and this is something I should have known all along) that they are not that different after all, the style of writing, the characters and even the complete stories notwithstanding. While one spoke of the absolute lack of free will, the other lends to an extrapolation that awarding anyone free will (which now seems like the Holy Grail, given my incessant harping on it) will inevitably result in complete loss and anarchy, an outcome not dissimilar to a Pyrrhic war.

There, I think I'm done. What was meant to be a decent comment on two more-than-decent books has turned out to be a narcissistic monotone, with the aforesaid objective relegated to an epilogue. Anyway, hope the future makes me less self-indulgent, for my stories of childhood and friends et al are bound to run out sometime. And a friend, who has begun blogging in recent times, is fast proving to be a far more able chronicler of funny goings-on in my circle of friends. The next book I'll read is a collection of Anthony Burgess' (author of A Clockwork Orange) writings. I'll be sure to write how that goes.

For people who haven't been distracted by my random rambling from the strong sense of déjà vu that the title inspired but have still not quite figured out why, let me help out a bit (another instance of the magnanimity which is clearly visible in how I let my philatelist friend enjoy my riches). For the next few weeks, I'll be arranging to pay my taxes for the first time. While the utter lack of connection with the previous statement may move some to dismiss this as work of a deranged maniac, rest assured that the previous statement holds within it the solution to the sleepless nights you will doubtless endure in attempting to uncover the reason for the strange familiarity of the title (if you think it is familiar, of course). May you succeed!

Elementary, my dear Watson

2009-05-16T14:09:00.001+05:30

Yesterday I had a flashback. To the time I was 10 or 11, and had just finished an abridged version of The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. You know, that pocket-sized 'Classics' series, aimed at getting children interested in books? I was already interested in books (I think I had read all the Hardy Boys stories when I was in 3^rd or 4^th), but the one in question certainly caught my eye. So, consequent to some beseeching and imploring with my parents, I got my hands on the Complete Stories of Sherlock Holmes or some such, which contained all 56 short stories and 4 long ones. Unabridged, of course. It was a blissful read. My next major problem was that 10 days after I got the book, I'd already devoured it (it was during my summer holidays, and I was in Madras with nothing to do). I still remember jumping around then, saying I wanted to become a detective. This continued, if my memory serves me right, for a reasonably long time. My next major career decision was when I was 14, after reading Chromosome 6 by Robin Cook. At that point, it was obvious to me, for I had seen the light. I was destined to become a genetic engineer… Of course, today I'm neither. But nevertheless, those were glory days. I used to feel I was Superman (He-man is also a very applicable metaphor – I used to love that series and the sword used therein when I was 4-5 years old). After reading the Bible Code, I wondered where I could get my hands on the software the book mentioned, to check what it would unearth about me from the Torah. Funny days, too. Paradise lost and all that.

Sherlock Holmes was a brilliant invention of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's mind. He gripped the imagination of avid readers like no fictional character before. Of course, there were only two notable detectives in fiction before Holmes came along (Edgar Allan Poe's Dupin and Gaboriau's Monsieur Lecoq; Agatha Christie's Miss Marple and Hercule Poirot came much later). I've read of neither of Holmes' esteemed predecessors, but he does disparage their techniques and intelligence ever-so-slightly. So much for them. His popularity was unprecedented. The story of how he was literally brought back to life (dare I say poorly constructed pun intended? The most redundant two words in English ever, closely competing with "Don't laugh") is a very well-known one. And Sir Doyle wasn't the only one who resurrected him. His story has been adapted into numerous plays, television series, etc since. In fact, an intriguing tidbit about Holmes concerns the title of this blog post – 'Elementary, my dear Watson'. Although this phrase immediately conjures up an image of a man with a sharp countenance and a deerskin cap, smoking a pipe (Holmes, in case these 'clues' didn't give it away), it never really appeared in any of the stories as penned by Sir Doyle. In that sense, it is a misattribution (one cannot call it apocryphal though, since Holmes himself is, arguably, fictional). It did appear, however, in a later adaptation, and pretty much stuck.

The reason for this (extremely) labored journey back in time was a book I just finished reading yesterday (and started the day before – it was an incredibly easy read) – The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time, by Mark Haddon. For those you haven't been extremely devoted Holmes-ians, this is a line from the mystery Silver Blaze, a story about a missing race-horse. This is how the exchange goes. I've taken the liberty of embellishing the statements slightly for effect, given the near-total lack of context, and given the fact that I don't remember them phonographically.

A little while after our discussion, Holmes said, "Well, Watson, there was also the curious incident of the dog in the night-time". I replied, "But Holmes, the dog didn't do anything!" "That, my dear Watson", said Holmes, "was the curious incident."

And just like the story referenced in the title, this one too is a mystery – revolving around the murder of Wellington, a dog that was killed in the night-time. It is a great read, but not because the intricacies of the murder and its consequent solution are brought out exceedingly well. The story is as penned by Christopher Boone, a 15-year old autistic child. It made a reasonably deep impression on me, and also reminded me of To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee, a children's book of which they say, extremely accurately, 'a book that every adult should read'. I agree. If anyone hasn't read this book yet, it must go to the top of one's reading list (and if one doesn't have a reading list, this book merits the creation of one). I think what works for The Curious Incident… is the fact that it underlines everything we take for granted but shouldn't. The author very effectively forces the reader to see the world through the eyes (and pen) of a child who hates being touched, and thinks that seeing 5 yellow cars on the road is a premonition of an exceedingly bad day. He doesn't talk to strangers (good advice for anyone), and doesn't eat his food if two or more items are touching each other on his plate (not so good advice).

The boy's heroics as the book proceeds are indeed noteworthy, as are his skills in mathematics, which overcompensate for his deficiencies elsewhere. I think the book's success cannot be summarized better than by saying that when you're done, you don't pity the boy, you admire him for what he is, what he achieves and what he plans to become. When, at the end of the book, Chris realizes that he can 'do anything', you realize it with him. And with the benefit of an external frame of reference, maybe even more so. Few books have left me with as much of a proverbial lump in my throat as this one did.

Unfortunately, however, I don't think I'm going to read any other book by Mark Haddon. He's written some others, mainly for kids. A Spot of Bother, published in 2006, is more targeted at adults. But I'm not going to read it. I'm convinced that he wouldn't have been able to create the same magic as the first one. Just like Harper Lee, incidentally, who's not published much since To Kill … Maybe that's how it should be. Maybe, just like Sherlock Holmes, the magic was never really the author's prerogative.

A Flawed Masterpiece

2009-04-13T15:04:00.001+05:30

Life was so good back in school.. Always had plenty of time to watch movies and read books. Now, on most days, I have just about enough time to catch some sleep. Just about.

But, my cleverness and ingenuity led me to a solution – I started watching movies in episodes! Isn't the idea brilliant? J (my ineffectual attempt at sarcasm duly noted, I hope). Anyway, I saw Burn After Reading over a 2-week period, and the comedy didn't flag. I saw Slumdog Millionaire over a similar span of time, but that was because I found it too boring for one sitting. Speaking of Slumdog, I don't know how many people were shocked or pleasantly surprised that it won an Oscar, but I certainly was. And I set out to provide a basis for my incredulity by watching the other popular movies of the year. I'm done with The Reader and Vicky Christina Barcelona, and I must admit that Slumdog is much better. But more on that later…

One director whose work I've seen with some interest over the years is Clint Eastwood. The manner in which he's reinvented himself from a trigger-happy Westerner to a storyteller with other plot-lines up his sleeve has been worth watching. Although I cannot claim to be an expert in his direction style, etc – having watched only 4 movies directed by him; I can pinpoint sufficient differences between his previous movies and his latest slate to be convinced of the metamorphosis.

I saw Changeling a few months ago, and Gran Torino in the past few weeks, and both of them were exceedingly good movies. There's something about the manner in which this 70-year old geezer projects his stories, that forces you to accept every time-worn cliché he throws at you, with equanimity. In both these movies (and previous ones), there have been enough and more instances when any movie-watcher worth his salt would be able to guess the next dialogue or plot twist. But the way Mr. Eastwood tells it, or the way he grunts his dialogues, you decide to give it to him.

Gran Torino is a great movie, period. The clichés are present in full force, true. But the most important juncture, the plot towards the finale, wasn't entirely expected. In fact, it was a particularly apt example of the transition that Mr. Eastwood has been through. Without descending in to spoilers, let me just say that watching the last 15-20 minutes of Gran Torino and Unforgiven in quick succession, one wouldn't fail to appreciate the key differences.

No need for a movie review here, those are abundantly available. But yes, both movies are must-sees, from a master storyteller. Dirty Harry has made a clean break.

The Great Technicolor Dream

2008-08-24T14:17:00.001+05:30

An event of the week before last makes this year a watershed in movie history for many. All right, it’s not that big a deal (in fact, I started this post last week, but left it midway because I didn’t feel like writing), but a stellar work of art and movie-making did get its due..

This event of great consequence relates to the Internet Movie Database – a very popular film website, and one whose widget I have unsuccessfully been trying to install on my blog for the past few months. The Shawshank Redemption finally toppled Godfather (and The Dark Knight) as the #1 movie of all time according to movie-watchers who frequent iMDB. Many of you might have your own favorite movies and scoff at this development, but I welcome and completely support it, so I thought it would be apt to write about the best movie I’ve seen (but don’t watch it too many times – the 3rd time was slightly boring).

The movie didn’t have much impact on the box office when it released – it just barely covered costs in its movie-hall earnings. Although nominated for 7 Oscars, it walked away with none. That’s not such a big deal in retrospect, because Pulp Fiction didn’t win much that year either – Forrest Gump trumped everyone else. But this movie slowly caught on to the movie-watcher’s imagination, spreading mainly through word-of-mouth to become the most-rented movie of 1995.

So why do I think this 1994 flick was more special than the rest? The usual suspects are, of course, fine acting, visionary direction and a superlative storyline. But delving deeper, I discover (and I can smugly say that I suspected this all along) something about the human psyche to which this movie appeals like not many others.

Hope is an interesting concept, a deep feeling. It pervades most of our daily lives when we are kids, but our store of hope dwindles ever so slowly but ever so surely, as the years in our lives increase. Which is a dismal thing to occur, for the one good thing that came out of Pandora’s Box is surely to be treasured. The Shawshank Redemption is all about hope – it could very well have had just that one word as its title (which would have presumably improved its box office chances – all that some movie-goers remembered of its name was ‘that rickshaw movie’). Andy Dufresne, a man sentenced to two life-terms in the Shawshank prison, is not guilty of the crime he has been convicted for. And he hopes for redemption – someday, he’ll be free again, and people will recognize his innocence. Whether he gets what he hopes for is another story, and I for one don’t want to be guilty of sparing anyone the amazing experience that this movie is – believe it or not, some people still haven’t seen it (but I know only one such person).

Many movies I have seen lose themselves in trying to execute too many plots and sub-plots – something that this was also in danger of doing. But the superb screenplay ensured that each and every subplot was executed with great finesse, and added something intangible to the poignancy of this epic depiction of one man’s stubbornness towards his fate. That’s one of the beauties of this film to me – the institutionalized librarian, the new kid on the prison block, Andy’s friendship with Red (Morgan Freeman in the role of his life); all made this movie truly memorable.

I especially like one scene (there were many others, but this is the one that lends itself least to the term ‘spoiler’). Andy’s perseverance in procuring resources for the fund’s library finally succeeds, and some old books and records come his way. He locks himself into the jailors’ office, and plays an opera duet on the speakers. The look of rapt enchantment in the eyes of all the prisoners is a testament to the pervasiveness of hope, of the belief that one’s lot will get better.

Red learns many things from Andy. In his eyes, Andy made a simple choice – get busy living, or get busy dying. True, pessimism ensures that you either expect the outcome or are pleasantly surprised. Optimism doesn’t afford such luxuries, but the feeling is its own reward. For that is what makes us human, pushes us to work and back everyday, hoping that some day, life will give us all we wish for.

I told someone recently that people grow up when they realize that their dreams aren’t going to come true. A trifle harsh, I knew. But I realize now that maybe, just maybe, growing up isn’t such a good thing.

Chaos – one reigns in it, one reins it in

2008-07-27T22:29:00.002+05:30

So I saw the Dark Knight yesterday (finally), and I immediately rushed home to watch Batman Begins, so I could compare the two – it had been a very long time since I saw the first one. But to my dismay, I couldn't find it anywhere. So instead, let me try to talk about the sequel alone, for I know that when I get time to write again, I would have forgotten about this one as well.

At the very outset, let me opine that Christopher Nolan is brilliant. He doesn't disappoint one bit, and the movie is as spectacular and well-made as any in his illustrious past – Batman Begins, Prestige and Memento. He shows us yet again why Batman is probably the best superhero ever – he has Nolan directing his movies. All week, I kept hearing about how the Joker is simply the best one ever – he puts even Jack Nicholson to shame. I think I am inclined to agree with this – credit to both Heath Ledger and the director, who's made this franchise consistently darker than any other superhero series (I am not counting pretenders like The Crow or The Punisher in the same category). If you haven't seen the movie yet, please don't read this blog (I know the chances of this are slim, given the brilliance of the movie and my scant readership). Your time is much better invested in finding a compatible time when the movie is playing at a theater near you. Additionally, although I will do my utmost not to, I might give away some details that you would be much better off finding out on your own. But if you have seen it already, then go ahead unafraid.

Starting with the tagline, did anyone else surmise as to why it was 'Why … so … serious?'? I preferred the line on many movie posters in Mumbai – 'Welcome to a world with no rules'. Like Alfred and the mob boss told Bruce Wayne, the Joker has no rules. You might try to guess at his motivations, but you would be wrong. Case in point being what the Joker does with his share of the money which he so painstakingly stole back for the mob. Pure chaos, that's what he was about - pure absolute chaos, no sordid childhood, no jilting lover. Mixing pure evil and pithiness, he was a revelation – the scene outside the hospital (with the remote control) and in the prison (where he demanded his phone call) were amazing, or to use words from another recent movie – awesome (if you think you deserve a prize for guessing the name of this movie, then you better get out and get a life). And I bet all the Batmen of the world would be stumped if the Joker tells them, 'You complete me'. Move over Tom Cruise, we have a new romantic in town. I read somewhere that Ledger spent a month in isolation, planning the Joker's mannerisms, tone and voice. I have to say, he's got it spot on. His reaction to the Lieutenant's promotion was spontaneous, and not a part of the script – but everyone who saw the movie would admit that it perfectly added to the Joker's persona.

So what did I like best about the movie? There was no single sequence that clearly trumped, but I can readily name three.

First, the Joker – right from his chuckles as he was being beaten black and blue, to his spine-chilling 30 seconds with Rachel Dawes (I bet it felt a lot longer). They got it inch-perfect and created the stuff of legend.

Second, Harvey Dent's line to the Batman – 'Either die early a hero, or live long enough to be seen as a villain'. This troubles Bruce Wayne throughout the movie, for Batman never became more than an 'outlaw vigilante'. It couldn't be summed up better.

Third, the last 2 minutes. I would be the first one to agree that the new Commissioner's family made it a little melodramatic, but Batman says it the best it could – he is whatever Gotham wants him to be. Never before during his exploits did he ever become the hero that Gotham deserved. Or maybe it didn't.

Live forever … Or die trying

2008-06-01T14:59:00.001+05:30

Immortality has gripped the senses of humankind for almost as long as history can remember. Philosophy-wise, Sophie's World (an excellent book by Jostein Gaarder) tells me that the Hellenistic period (circa 320 BC-150 BC) was the very first time that thinkers expounded on the subject of eternal life, and wondered what one would need to do to extend one's life on earth. Since then, many such thinkers have come and gone (evidently, they were as clueless as the rest of us). But that is not to say that there haven't been charlatans who've pretended to have first-hand knowledge of events long before their time. One of the more notable ones was the Comte de Saint-Germain in 18^th century France, who claimed to have lived for over 2000 years. His supposed pupil, Cagliostro, also claimed the same, famously making the ill-thought statement, 'Jesus should have taken my advice'. Ill-thought, because he was subsequently sentenced to death, and so ended his eternity. Many movies have also broached the subject, most recent being The Man from Earth (a decent low-budget 2007 movie). The movie that I shall talk about, however, is The Fountain, a 2006 movie by Darren Aronofsky (of Requiem for a Dream fame).

This movie follows three parallel stories (or two … or one, according to some interpretations). There's probably only one person who understands this very confusing movie completely, and that's Aronofsky (and even that is only an assumption). A look at his previous movies would lead us to very quickly dismiss this movie as 'weird', but aren't we all, at some level, weird? (One thing's clear, I'm probably weird too). So, coming back to the story, it follows the life of a doctor and his wife, who has terminal cancer. It also concerns an ancient fabled tree, which promises the gift of immortality (the Fountain of Life, as it were). The wife is penning a story of a Spanish Conquistador in search of this tree, and she dies with the last chapter unwritten. With her last breath, she tells her husband to finish it for her (to those of you who dismiss this movie as a Hindi potboiler right now, a fervent appeal to persist). But he's in search of immortality too, and only when he gives up trying to bring his wife back from the dead does he realize how to finish the story. What happens in between is very beautifully shot (on a low budget), and needs to be seen to be fully appreciated.

But of essence in the movie is its conclusion. Throughout the movie, the belief is that death is no more than a disease, one whose cure is still beyond the realms of human medicine. The Conquistador's Tree of Life is just a metaphor for this cure, this elixir of life. Like the character in his wife's book, the doctor is also besotted by this notion. But as cynical realists, the audience knows that the real question is not when the doctor will be successful, but rather, when failure will be accepted. Death is, after all, not a bad thing for us non-philosophers who are tired of our mundane lives or crappy jobs or empty schedules or full schedules or blogs with low readership (J). Anyway, the story ends in a manner that sums it up best. The Conquistador sure finds the Tree of Life. But of course, it's not what he thinks it is. See the movie, and let the end surprise you. This was one movie that kept me interested throughout, and yet satisfied me completely with its finale (The Departed is one movie that had only the former quality). And one thing I am sure of is that even the most imaginative of us will agree that no other end would have been more appropriate. A great movie which, unfortunately, won't promise Aronofsky immortality (you've probably not even heard of it before). But well tried, nevertheless…

Catch - 22

2008-05-25T13:48:00.001+05:30

I have read a lot of books that haven't made an iota of difference to my life. These books have made me happy, sure, but only because I was done with them and wouldn't have to read them again. Catch 22, by Joseph Heller, isn't one of them. An incredible satire on the foolishness of war and the attached bureaucracy, it has been widely acknowledged as one of the most powerful books of the previous century. It was also the origin of the famous phrase (its name), and means a situation where there is no possible solution with a positive impact. One is, figuratively (and sometimes literally), stuck.

So what makes this book so great? The hero of the book, Yossarian, is a bombardier for the US Army in the War, and is stationed at the island of Pianosa. In describing his travails, the author makes a compelling point about the stupidity of war, and how all military actions are motivated by personal wishes of those in power, which are almost always silly. I read somewhere that the author himself was a bombardier during the war, so one can presume that the character is autobiographical, or the author's ideal of himself at the very least.

The character of Yossarian is best summed up by one of his exchanges with his camp doctor Doc Daneeka. He says that he doesn't want to fly missions anymore, because he didn't want to get killed. The doc (who was slightly more patriotic, given that he never had to fly) asked him what he thought would happen if everyone thought that way. To which Yossarian replies, 'Then I'd be a damned fool to want to fly, wouldn't I?' The character of Yossarian captured the imagination of millions of people, who always wondered whether or not he survived the war (doing my best to maintain ambivalence regarding the end of the book). Well, he did, which was confirmed by a later novel by the same author, Closing Time, which spoke of Yossarian's life after the war. This novel was clearly motivated by the public's strong interest in the hero, epitomized by some placard that the author saw someone holding somewhere, (I have absolutely no specific idea, as you no doubt guessed) saying 'Yossarian Lives!'.

But let me speak a bit more about the title. Readers come across catch 22 situations many times in the book. But the one situation that best exemplifies the title is the rule which says that an insane person need not fly missions. However, if an insane person were to come up to a military doctor and say that he was insane, such an action would be motivated by an urge to protect oneself, which is a highly rational and sane wish. In short, an insane person need not fly, but pointing this out would mean that the person is sane, as only sane people would have a strong desire not to fly. Being proven sane, the person would have to continue flying. Pretty impressive, huh! Yossarian thought so too, when he first heard it.

This kind of catch 22 is fairly similar to a problem in economics that we call The Prisoner's Dilemma. Consider two people, who have been captured by the police, and whom the police are attempting to get a confession out of. If neither confesses, both get a jail term of 2 years. If one of them confesses, however, the other gets a jail term of 10 years, while the confessor gets only 1 year. If both confess, they each get 5 years. The optimal solution here, for both prisoners, is for neither to confess. However, this will not happen, as there is a fear of the other prisoner betraying you. What always happens, (and there are economic terms for this of course, all of which sound really sophisticated) is that both prisoners confess, and get a jail term of 5 years. Thus, while this is clearly not the best combined decision, no other decision will ever be made, because the best independent decision for either prisoner is to confess. Kapish?

So please read the book, if you can. Or see the movie; it's an exhaustive take on the book. You won't regret it at all. However, there's another very hilarious character, whom I must mention. The mess officer of the camp, Milo Minderbinder, hits upon a fantastic plan to make money off the war. He uses restocking the mess as an excuse to fly around all over Europe, buying and selling stuff to collect margins for a 'syndicate', which no one knows whether one is a member of. Milo, of course, insists that 'everyone has a share'. Well, so Milo ends up with the entire cotton crop of Egypt, which he then tries to include in mess food (but he isn't a domineering tyrant, so he coats the cotton balls with chocolate syrup). In another absolutely ROFL moment, he and his accomplices take off in the camp's own planes, off the camp's own runway, to bombard the very same runway. Obviously, everyone on camp had a share in the contract which Milo entered into … with the Germans! Anyway, read this book, and tell me what you think.

It all started with a flip of a coin, 11 months ago…

2008-05-24T13:43:00.001+05:30

I recently watched The Butterfly Effect. I must say, I think the director is very gifted (apart from, of course, the actors available to him… this movie top-lined Ashton Kutcher of That 70s' Show fame). The manner in which he tells the story is quite interesting, to say the least. I also saw Pi, another very good movie directed by Darren Aronofsky. He is more famous for a later movie, Requiem for a Dream, a movie I'll never see (I don't believe I can take depression of such a manic kind). His next movie, The Fountain, however, is a movie I watched, and found very interesting (expect a blog on that movie pretty soon, methinks).

Anyway, what connects Pi and The Butterfly Effect? Both touch, directly or indirectly, variants of a celebrated mathematical idea called the chaos theory (Pi talks more about chaos). And they both present very interesting ideas, which are worth exploring, at the very least (Fear not, for I shall do only that).

Chaos theory is a very catchy name for what is really a theory about the significant impact of initial conditions. No prizes for choosing the more glamorous one correctly (aap paanchvi paas se tez nahi hain). The theory says that changing the initial inputs to a process by very negligible amounts can sometimes have non-negligible effects on final conditions. What this means is that what seems to be a disorderly situation is actually a deterministic effect of some invisible changes in the manner in which things started. Therefore, and I think this is very interesting, chaos theory actually says that there is order in everything. One very good example of how initial conditions can affect what happens in the end is a Honda advertisement made a few years ago. The advertisement starts with a very harmless gear rolling into a slightly bigger one. The ad goes on for about 2 min, with every new auto component moving another, till, ultimately, an SUV moves a bit. Any slight change in the momentum of the first gear or its direction would probably have derailed the experiment long before culmination. And as expected, the ad-makers required 606 takes to get everything right. I don't know whether I can post YouTube videos here, so I'll just paste the link. Do go have a look.

http://in.youtube.com/watch?v=g2VCfOC69jc

See what I mean? Anyway, The Butterfly Effect is named after the famous chaos theory quote: The flapping of a butterfly's wings can cause a typhoon halfway across the world. Cool, huh? Well, not exactly true, but you get the drift. The protagonist is a guy who realizes that he can alter his memories, and in so doing, can actually modify the past. Now, the few of us who saw Back to the Future III know that this is not really true; all he does is create a parallel universe. But hey, guys, this is just a movie! Allow the guy some directorial license! Jokes apart, the movie is about how this guy keeps going back in time, changing every little thing, but coming back to the present to find out that something else has gotten messed up. There's another discrepancy too, which we shall ignore (after I mention it, of course). None of the changes he makes (like killing a guy) are negligible in any manner of speaking. But the movie ends very well, and all in all, was a good investment of my time (not a very busy boy, am I?). The line of the movie, for me, was when this kid goes to meet his father in a psychiatric hospital. His father was put in there, for he suffered from the safe gift/curse (Spider-Man fan alert!) as his son, the protagonist. So he tells his father, 'I'll send you a post-card once I make everything right.' The father says, 'You'll never be able to do it, son, for your actions will always have unintended effects.' And then proceeds to try and kill him.

Pi is slightly different, in that it talks of chaos, not chaos theory. It's about a crazed mathematician who believes that numbers alone can explain all natural phenomena. The apparent chaos will clear away once one is able to see the numerical patterns. And his goal in life is to find such a pattern in the stock markets (something malicious-looking stock-pickers constantly hound him about). Somewhere along the way, a Jewish mathematician (also crazed, I am sure) starts trying to attract him towards the search for a 216-digit number that will unlock future prosperity. When our hero's computer spews a 216-digit error code (actually 218 digits – a directorial error), he begins to smell a connection, and the plot thickens considerably (and how, for one sees brains lying around in railway stations, and drills are no longer used just for making holes in walls). The underlying theme of this movie is the search for this elusive (and incredibly long) number that will help the protagonist see the whole world clearly (and give him Matrix-type powers too, I bet). Whether he gets it or not, is for you to see and find out.

Looking at things one way, we can see that the chaos theory does make a lot of sense. An example from the book Black Swan can be paraphrased as follows. A path of a billiard ball as it hits the sides of a billiards table can be calculated reasonably accurately for a few bounces by taking into account the coefficients of friction of the table and the sides, the coefficients of cohesion, etc. But new factors keep being introduced as the number of bounces off the sides increases, as their effects become important. For instance, after the 7^th bounce, the masses of the people standing next to the table become important. After the 50^th bounce, the movement of an electron at the edge of the universe will also make a tangible difference to the path. This is bad news for those among us who suffer from over-analysis (they have problems anyway). But let me also say that if lightning strikes you as you make your way to work tomorrow, rest assured, it's not because you left your residence at 9:00:23 a.m. as opposed to your usual 9:00:10 a.m. And of course, you're already dead, so it's a moot point.

Don’t Look Now, But There’s Money in the Trunk

2008-05-23T19:09:00.001+05:30

Conspiracy theories make people rich. Not you and me, of course (unless you are paranoid or have an extensive imagination, in which case there's hope for you). The conspiracy theory industry makes millions of bucks a year, at the very least. This includes books, movies, lecture series, and even serialized newspaper reports.

Organizations like the Ku Klux Klan, which have been near-defunct for many years now, still make huge amounts in membership fees, presumably because at any point of time, there will always be some people seeing Birth of a Nation (a highly controversial movie, banned in many countries) for the first time. And I'm sure almost all of you remember the furor that rose in journalistic circles when Princess Diana died. The then-Premier of the UK, Tony Blair, had to publicly denounce the 'Diana Death Industry', as he put it, and even then, the gold rush was scarcely derailed.

There are numerous books, periodicals, etc that focus on such sensationalist theories. Don't take my word for it, search for the word conspiracy on Amazon.com. In fact, I read in an excellent article on the subject that a new edition of the afore-mentioned Protocols of the Elders of Zion is available on Amazon, and has sold at least 64000 copies, which is a pretty handsome number (for a book whose origins have been proven to be fake).

When we talk of movies, many conspiracy movies have done well. The Fugitive, Men in Black, and to a lesser extent, The Matrix (although people like the series for different reasons) are all examples of movies where someone suspects that life isn't all that ordinary at all. And surprises of surprises, they are right. The biggest fish of all, of course, is the X-Files franchise. This series made tons of money for its producers, and was even made into a movie.

This is, more or less, all that I have to say on the subject (and Thank God for that!). I hope I have managed to convince at least some readers that conspiracy theories need to be consumed with a ton of salt. Of course, maybe this is all a conspiracy too, hatched by some evil sociologist who's cashing on our gullibility by forming an international syndicate of conspiracy theorists …

The Truth is Out There! (haunting music in the background)

2008-05-22T22:52:00.002+05:30

The above line, made hugely famous by the X-Files TV show, conjures up the equally famous background score to mind almost immediately. The innumerable number of subplots of the main one – that there is information about extra-terrestrials that the government is hiding – have helped the producers mint quite a bit of money. But more on that later (surprise surprise). For now, we'll move to something at least as interesting.

Let us look at a few conspiracy theories, and I'll try to show where they come up short. The Pearl Harbor conspiracy is fairly popular. The proponents say that US officials were aware of the imminent Japanese attack, but purposefully chose to do nothing. Such an allegation is based on two assumptions: that the US officials had all the necessary information, and that they consequently acted rationally. Graham Allison (of Rationality Theorem fame) found that while the government did have all the necessary information, this information was scattered across departments. The entire picture wasn't formed in time. Bureaucracy was thus the main reason for the government not acting in time. Also, some of the information was actually misunderstood – the harbor was on alert, but for Japanese sabotage, not an aerial attack.

The Bible Code, a book by Michael Drosnin, was fairly popular a few years ago. In this book, he shows that many things that happen today in the world have actually been coded into the Old Testament, i.e. the Torah, which is written in Hebrew. He uses a computer to find certain terms in the Torah, by searching rows, columns and diagonals. He also went on to show how the Bible predicts the assassination of Yitzhak Rabin, the then Premier of Israel. Now, this is not a true blue conspiracy theory, but it does have elements of one (if you receive a lot of forwards, you might be able to draw parallels with how one can fold a $1 bill in a certain manner to predict the 9/11 mishap). The problems with such a theory are equally obvious and startling. Such a finding is quite random, in the sense that if one looks in any voluminous book in an old language (which the Torah certainly is) one is bound to find a column or diagonal that matches a certain word. This is just plain old and simple probability. A similar error occurs in Zeitgeist, where the filmmaker says that the advent of Jesus was simply an announcement of the beginning of the age of Pisces (see the movie to understand what this means). He goes on to prove this by presenting approximately ten paragraphs from the New Testament that mention the words 'two' and 'fish', and mind you, they don't always occur together in these chosen lines. Consider an exercise, where one uses a computer to generate a million paragraphs randomly, using nouns and filler sentences that are present in the Bible. Any math professor (or student) will guarantee that in a million such randomly-generated paragraphs, one will be quite likely to find at least 10 with these two words in them. This is akin to the famous analogy coined by Nashim Nicholas Taleb in Fooled By Randomness, where he says that if one has a billion monkeys typing on typewriters, one of these monkeys will definitely end up writing the Hamlet (Although it is widely believed today that Shakespeare was a plagiarist, I in no way want to add to speculation that he kept a private army of lesser primates).

One last theory must be debunked, at least partially, before I call it a day. Let me move on to the Pentagon conspiracy. Proponents say that a Boeing never hit the Pentagon, as the only released photos show no sign of the debris that one would expect from a Boeing collision (of course, the reasons are more numerous, but this is the basic one). The fact that the FBI refused to release any security camera footage has added to the speculation. The simple reason (Occam's Razor) for the fact that the photographs show a shadow approaching the Pentagon, and then show the damage, is that the number of frames captured per second is less than that required to capture such a collision. And the simple reason for the lack of any debris is that probably the debris fell on spots that the camera didn't capture (recall the no evidence of disease = evidence of no disease fallacy).

So you see, conspiracy theories are, more often than not, simply an indication that somebody out there is making some elementary logical errors. As a consumer of such theories, one must curb one's appetite for sensationalism, if one wants to maintain a realistic perspective. But of course, there's one more angle to this long-winding story – the economic one. When we look at that, we'll probably understand the most emphatic reason yet for the existence of these amazing inventions of idle minds.

Rabbits are DUMB!

2008-05-22T19:27:00.000+05:30

And why is that? Is it because of their overzealous imagination, their propensity for disbelief, or their extreme paranoia? All three, actually. Especially since they mean the same thing (ok, don’t snigger at my cheap trick). Let me continue what I was saying earlier, about conspiracy theories. In particular, let’s look at what the common mistakes made are.

The first mistake that many conspiracy theorists make is that they do not account for the famous rule-of-thumb known as Occam’s Razor: Complicated stories are less probable than simple ones. Many such theories unnecessarily complicate what happened, usually to account for one tiny flaw in the ‘official’ story. There’s nothing wrong with such an approach, except that from the universe of possible corrections, the theorist chooses the potentially controversial one. Further, such theories very often employ logical fallacies. One example of a widely noticed fallacy is analogous to a doctor assuming that a person definitely doesn’t have cancer when evidence of cancer is absent. Such an assumption is valid only when evidence of no cancer is present. Putting this slightly differently, one could say that inconsistencies in a narrative are not necessarily indications of the opposite. Another important thing to think about is the number of conspirators. A simple rule is, ‘The more the number of conspirators required in a theory, the less likely it is to be the actual turn of events’. Conspiracy theories also need to be falsifiable. This means that the specific claims of the theory have to be such that they can be disproved. If this is not the case, it might mean that the theory is nothing but a convenient explanation of the facts.

Very often, conspiracy theories are like old-age economics. Just like the latter, they believe that all individuals act rationally, and always maximize the utility of consequences to them. However, most of us would realize that this is not the case at most times. This is the reason people doing MBAs have subjects like Behavioral Finance along with Economics. This argument was developed by Graham Allison in his book Essence of Decision, and he called it the Rationality Theorem. When people believe in rationality, they automatically exclude factors like bureaucracy and misunderstandings from their explanations of events, and consider only available data and results. In the rational world, all events are explained on the basis of rationality of participants. But a stubborn teenager’s fight with his dad should be more than enough to convince us that the opposite is often the case.

There are more problems with conspiracy theories, which I am sure you aren’t surprised to hear. Many such theories use ‘never-before seen government documents’ or ‘restricted files’ to arrive at conclusions. There is no way one can prove or disprove such claims of convenience. All one can say of such theories is that their veracity is questionable, at the very least. Finally, coming back to an allusion I made earlier, people tend to believe that significant events have significant causes. A study has been reported, in which four versions of an event were presented to the subjects where a foreign president was

Successfully assassinated
Wounded but survived
Survived with wounds but died of natural causes at a later date
Was unharmed

The subjects were significantly more likely to suspect conspiracy in the case of major events, i.e. where the president died, than in the other versions.

I don’t know about you, but I certainly was startled when I read of this study. But somewhere in my head, I think it all fits in with our subliminal need for excitement. Like our Indian batsmen, who play badly to make the game more exciting for the audience (unrelated, actually, but what the hell! … all bloggers voice their opinions on matters of public interest). Next time, I’ll try to be a little more interesting, considering that I myself fell asleep writing this portion. I’ll try to trash some popular theories. Won’t do too much, but hopefully, you’ll get the idea…

Nobody Framed Roger Rabbit

2008-05-21T13:47:00.001+05:30

For those who don't experience any déjà vu on reading the title, it is a take on popular children's movie Who Framed Roger Rabbit?. This post on my blog regards conspiracy theories, examples of which I find immensely interesting and usually, equally inane. In the world where conspiracies are the norm, Roger Rabbit is always framed. In the world where conspiracies are the exception (also known as the real world) however, he almost always isn't. Why then, if my surmise is correct, do such theories grip our imagination? Well, they sure do make for interesting coffee table topics, don't they? That's probably the reason why. Anyway, over the course of the next 3-4 posts (I have successfully broken up my discourse), let me expound on some popular theories, and the reasons why conspiracy theories are usually fallacious.

I finished reading Umberto Eco's novel Foucault's Pendulum last week, which draws exhaustively on Europe's history of the Dark Ages, to satirize conspiracism. His protagonists try to ridicule conspiracy theorists by deliberately linking different groups of people at various points in European history, and thereby inferring a comprehensive, world-changing conclusion. Much to their amazement and horror, the very people they are trying to spoof end up believing them, with some funny and some not-so-funny results. I also saw the documentary Zeitgeist, which elaborates on various 'conspiracies' that institutions have spun to keep us under their control. It was with these stories at the back of my mind that I decided to analyze conspiracy theories and try to figure out what it is about them that grabs our attention, every once in a while.

At the very outset, let me say that the normal human being laps up everything that is served to him in the newspaper. The conspiracy theorist is a completely different animal. His beliefs follow one or more of the following patterns: appearances deceive; conspiracies drive history; nothing is haphazard; the enemy always gains; power, fame, money, and sex account for all; and the tagline of the very unimaginatively titled movie Conspiracy Theory (a 1997 Mel Gibson starrer), 'What you know could kill you'. Don't such plots catch your eye? They sure do, because, like my life, your life is probably boring too, and such stories bring a lot of excitement with them. There is another belief that pervades all such theories, a belief that is potentially their greatest failing - that all significant events have significant causes. But more on that later, when I try to systematically show where conspiracy theories usually go wrong.

There are a few well-known conspiracy theories that have been doing the rounds in the past century. While most of them have never been proved (or disproved), a few of them have turned out right. Most notable of these was the text The Protocols of the Elders of Zion, which was purported to be an authentic Jewish text by the Russian Tsar's Secret Police in 1903. The material contained in this text was the main reason for the rise of anti-Semitism. The document was proved later to be a fake, but alas, this happened only after the horrors of the Holocaust, which, in a slightly trivial sense, this conspiracy was responsible for. So, are conspiracy theorists justified? Yes, one would say. Except for the very tiny minority of them which are true, the rest make for very attractive reading. One does feel nice pointing out flaws in such theories. Many such theories abound, most 'world-changing' (and hilarious from time to time) being the 9/11 conspiracy theory family, the Bible Code, the Pearl Harbor theory, Paul McCartney is Dead (he'll surely die laughing, if not anything else), the Apollo Moon Landing Hoax, and various New World Order theories. I could talk about each of these at length, but Wikipedia contributors have done a much better job. Instead, I will talk about a few of them later, when I try to show where they fail.

That's it for now, though. Next time, I shall write about the common mistakes that one sees in run-of-the-mill conspiracy theories. But I hope you can appreciate the qualities of such pulp fiction which invariably draws us towards it. 'So you like reading Sidney Sheldon? You'll probably like this fantastic new book that I read, which shows how the local convenience store is an integral part of a plan to overthrow the world ... and its not even fiction!' Brilliant stuff, eh?

Here I go

2008-05-20T17:12:00.000+05:30

This is my first attempt at a blog. There have been many times in the recent past when I decided to begin writing one, each time relegating the thought to the back of my mind due to the absence of any further initiative. This was probably because of the lack of ideas as to what I would write about. My only thought was that I would like very much to write. What about, was anybody's guess. Anyway, to cut a long story short, I am one of those guys who has an opinion on almost everything. And what's worse, I don't mind changing these opinions at the drop of a hat, and arguing vehemently in favour of whatever is my flavour of the season. This blog attempts to put to paper (or magnetic storage) the manner in which books and movies (and a myriad other things) influence me. To assuage my brother's fears, I must say this is not meant to be a platform where I criticize movies (he hated it when I pronounced my opinion of the Hindi movie Life in a Metro, an opinion which I cannot express in a non-restricted blog). It would be more of an attempt to critique the story and the thought process behind the movie, as well as to say more about the topic. It would also not be a commentary on the 'treatment' of the movie or the book, a word which my future-movie-maker bro uses a dozen times a minute. That would be better left to him. In some senses, this blog is also an attempt at structuring my thoughts, as I have always found that putting pen to paper (which this is, in a futuristic manner of speaking) helps one clear one's thoughts. Please forgive me if I sound too high-handed or unnecessarily elaborate in my future posts, for it has been a very long time since I have written anything non-specific (I last answered questions like 'Why MBA?' approximately 2.25 years ago). I am already working on breaking up my next post, so I know that this will definitely be the case. In keeping with my tendency to over-reach, let me also say that all humour in this blog is on purpose, and all puns are intended. Of course, there will be many times when you will pause and wonder why I wrote a particular line. Chances are, that was probably my attempt at a joke, one of many such which inevitably fall flat on their face (a fact that my friends will vociferously vouch for).

True to form, that was much ado about nothing. Till my next post, then.