Terry Pratchett:
Pratchett is a master of satire. He takes a dig at all geeky topics: physics, economics, science fiction, role playing games, classic fantasy; and he does it all with a straight face and in the context of a fantasy series! The Discworld series is a must-read for anyone who is a fantasy fan or a geek or both, a rollicking adventure set on a world that is - what else - a flat plate mounted on the back of a giant tortoise (sex unknown) with the help of four elephants.
Robert Asprin:
If Pratchett is a master of satire, then Asprin is the King. Demons, devils, vampires, magicians, baby dragons, character assassins and multi-dimensional mafia - find them all in the adventures of the Great Skeeve (a title gained mostly through good PR) starting with Another Fine Myth.
Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman:
These authors have written novels as individual authors, but usually they write together. The first thing I noticed about their books is that the settings are very, very imaginative, almost to the point of being weird! But the depth of thought gone into the details of their fantasy worlds and people is excellent. The books are well balanced with equal doses of adventure, suspense, irony, twists, humour and tragedy. I definitely recommend them to fantasy fans, though I think a casual reader might find it hard to digest the world setting.
Robin Hobb:
I've read the Farseer trilogy, and I thought it started on a very promising note but lost direction after the first book. It is the story of a prince's illegitimate son. The prince renounces his claim to the throne to clear any confusion to the succession, as his own wife is barren. The boy is then trained as an assassin to serve the throne. He inherits the magical ability called the Skill that is strong in the royal bloodlines... and unknown to most people, he also inherits an ancient magic from the side of his unknown mother. It could have been a brilliant series, but I think Hobb's inexperience in writing reduced it to merely good.
Anne McAffrey:
I've only read one of McAffrey's books, and I enjoyed it, though it was a rather small book. I don't know why she is advertised as a children's author; I thought the book (first one in the Dragonriders of Pern series) is suitable for all ages. However, I don't think I'm qualified to pass any kind of judgement from just that one book.
David Eddings:
I don't know how this guy became so famous. I found his books extremely predictable and very average. I think I might have enjoyed them if I were twelve years old, but I would recommend all adult readers to stay away from this guy.
Planning to read: Dan Simmons, Christopher Paolini, David Gemmell, Mercedes Lackey, Piers Anthony
Not Reviewing: J.R.R. Tolkien, J.K. Rowling 'cos everyone knows about them.
Friday, December 30, 2005
Saturday, December 24, 2005
Fantasy Author Reviews: Third Set
Terry Goodkind:
Goodkind is the best of authors that I've discovered in the past few months. My blog is named for Goodkind's first novel in the Sword of Truth series. The interesting thing about Goodkind's novels is his treatment of Wizardry: it's not just about magic, but equally about people. The Wizard's Rules according to him (at least, the ones he's mentioned in the first three books) are:
Wizard's First Rule: People are stupid. Corollary: People will believe anything you tell them if you know how to tell it to them.
Wizard's Second Rule: Actions with the best of intentions may lead to the worst consequences. Corollary: Always think things through. And remember that not everyone will.
Wizard's Third Rule: Passion rules Reason. Corollary: A Wizard should always think calmly, for the rest of the world probably will not.
In Goodkind's world, there are two kinds of magic: Additive and Subtractive. The knowledge of Subtractive magic was lost almost entirely by the end of some kind of a Wizard World War, which led to the division of the world at an isthmus through spell-wrought towers that maintain a barrier of illusion, storms and perils that none but a wizard could pass once, perhaps twice; but it attunes itself to people inside the zone such that absolutely nobody can pass it a third time.
In the half that is called the New World, a great magical barrier was raised to further divide the people who, on seeing the destruction that magic could cause, chose to live in a world without magic, and the people who wanted to continue their lives just the way it was. The first book of the series starts when a power-hungry wizard takes control of practically all of the land on his side of the barrier, and plots to bring down the barrier to dominate the land beyond, as well as kill the one wizard who is powerful enough to stop him.
As you can see, Goodkind is very good at creating his fantasy world, and his skill at spinning his stories match his imagination. My favourite scene from the Sword of Truth series:
"If Master Rahl is not here, then another Wizard who serves him will command the armies. We await your orders." said the Captain of the Guard.
Zed looked at him in anger. "Do you know, Captain, that I have spent most of my considerably long life fighting Wizards who tried to rule over people?"
"That is good. Better a man who bears his mantle reluctantly than one who misuses his power eagerly."
Terry Brooks:
Brooks has written a considerably large number of novels, and I have actually read a lot of them myself, yet I can never bring myself to say he is one of my favourites. I can't quite put my finger on it, but there is something missing from his style of writing. Perhaps it is that he tells good stories, but there is nothing beyond that; nothing thought-provoking, nothing to think about. Perhaps he is too predictable. I don't know.
The earlier Brooks novels, namely the original Shannara series and the first couple of Kingdom of Landover novels are probably his best. After that everything seems a bit repetitive. Even when he tried something new in the Jerle Shannara series, it came out to me as a gross hybrid of sci-fi and fantasy with none of the synergy and harmony that people like Ursula le Guin bring out.
Yet, Brooks does have some good ideas like the Elfstones and (his) Sword of Truth. The Magic Kingdom of Landover series is initially quite delightful and very original. If all you are looking for is a nice bedtime story then I would recommend you read Brooks, but if want more than that you can expect timepass but not satisfaction.
Tad Williams:
I came across this author entirely by accident when I saw the first book of his series Memory, Sorrow and Thorn in my aunt's house. Even when I read the first 60-odd pages of the book, I found nothing special and couldn't quite understand what was happening. But then, all of a sudden, things started making sense and the pieces of a masterful tale started coming together.
Memory, Sorrow and Thorn are three magical swords forged in William's original fantasy realm. The races of his realm are extremely interesting: the Humans, with their different customs in different parts of the world; the Sitha, a dwindling race of magical folk reminiscent of Tolkien's elves; the Trolls, a short but fierce and honourable race of mountain dwellers; the Dwarrows, master craftsmen like Tolkien's dwarves but peace-loving and reticent; the Wrannamen, who are humans but I ought to call them a separate race as they live isolated in swamp land and have a completely unique character; and of course a lot of different monster-type creatures.
William's writing is compelling and original, even if not evenly paced. However, when I picked up the first book of another series by him called Otherland, I found it so disgusting that I couldn't go beyond half of it, and mind you, I'm extra tolerant to fantasy authors.
A scene from Memory, Sorrow and Thorn that I liked:
The Duke saw a Clansman fighting on his side being disarmed, and called out a challenge to his attacker before he could finish him. The man looked up, and the Clansman used the extra second to draw a concealed dagger and stab him in the gut. He leapt to his feet, retrieved his weapon and waving his thanks, rejoined the battle. The Duke felt his head spin. An Erkynlander would never behave in such a dishonourable manner. But then again, should the man have died for his honour? Where was the honour in this war anyway, waged by a mad king for an unjust cause?
Goodkind is the best of authors that I've discovered in the past few months. My blog is named for Goodkind's first novel in the Sword of Truth series. The interesting thing about Goodkind's novels is his treatment of Wizardry: it's not just about magic, but equally about people. The Wizard's Rules according to him (at least, the ones he's mentioned in the first three books) are:
Wizard's First Rule: People are stupid. Corollary: People will believe anything you tell them if you know how to tell it to them.
Wizard's Second Rule: Actions with the best of intentions may lead to the worst consequences. Corollary: Always think things through. And remember that not everyone will.
Wizard's Third Rule: Passion rules Reason. Corollary: A Wizard should always think calmly, for the rest of the world probably will not.
In Goodkind's world, there are two kinds of magic: Additive and Subtractive. The knowledge of Subtractive magic was lost almost entirely by the end of some kind of a Wizard World War, which led to the division of the world at an isthmus through spell-wrought towers that maintain a barrier of illusion, storms and perils that none but a wizard could pass once, perhaps twice; but it attunes itself to people inside the zone such that absolutely nobody can pass it a third time.
In the half that is called the New World, a great magical barrier was raised to further divide the people who, on seeing the destruction that magic could cause, chose to live in a world without magic, and the people who wanted to continue their lives just the way it was. The first book of the series starts when a power-hungry wizard takes control of practically all of the land on his side of the barrier, and plots to bring down the barrier to dominate the land beyond, as well as kill the one wizard who is powerful enough to stop him.
As you can see, Goodkind is very good at creating his fantasy world, and his skill at spinning his stories match his imagination. My favourite scene from the Sword of Truth series:
"If Master Rahl is not here, then another Wizard who serves him will command the armies. We await your orders." said the Captain of the Guard.
Zed looked at him in anger. "Do you know, Captain, that I have spent most of my considerably long life fighting Wizards who tried to rule over people?"
"That is good. Better a man who bears his mantle reluctantly than one who misuses his power eagerly."
Terry Brooks:
Brooks has written a considerably large number of novels, and I have actually read a lot of them myself, yet I can never bring myself to say he is one of my favourites. I can't quite put my finger on it, but there is something missing from his style of writing. Perhaps it is that he tells good stories, but there is nothing beyond that; nothing thought-provoking, nothing to think about. Perhaps he is too predictable. I don't know.
The earlier Brooks novels, namely the original Shannara series and the first couple of Kingdom of Landover novels are probably his best. After that everything seems a bit repetitive. Even when he tried something new in the Jerle Shannara series, it came out to me as a gross hybrid of sci-fi and fantasy with none of the synergy and harmony that people like Ursula le Guin bring out.
Yet, Brooks does have some good ideas like the Elfstones and (his) Sword of Truth. The Magic Kingdom of Landover series is initially quite delightful and very original. If all you are looking for is a nice bedtime story then I would recommend you read Brooks, but if want more than that you can expect timepass but not satisfaction.
Tad Williams:
I came across this author entirely by accident when I saw the first book of his series Memory, Sorrow and Thorn in my aunt's house. Even when I read the first 60-odd pages of the book, I found nothing special and couldn't quite understand what was happening. But then, all of a sudden, things started making sense and the pieces of a masterful tale started coming together.
Memory, Sorrow and Thorn are three magical swords forged in William's original fantasy realm. The races of his realm are extremely interesting: the Humans, with their different customs in different parts of the world; the Sitha, a dwindling race of magical folk reminiscent of Tolkien's elves; the Trolls, a short but fierce and honourable race of mountain dwellers; the Dwarrows, master craftsmen like Tolkien's dwarves but peace-loving and reticent; the Wrannamen, who are humans but I ought to call them a separate race as they live isolated in swamp land and have a completely unique character; and of course a lot of different monster-type creatures.
William's writing is compelling and original, even if not evenly paced. However, when I picked up the first book of another series by him called Otherland, I found it so disgusting that I couldn't go beyond half of it, and mind you, I'm extra tolerant to fantasy authors.
A scene from Memory, Sorrow and Thorn that I liked:
The Duke saw a Clansman fighting on his side being disarmed, and called out a challenge to his attacker before he could finish him. The man looked up, and the Clansman used the extra second to draw a concealed dagger and stab him in the gut. He leapt to his feet, retrieved his weapon and waving his thanks, rejoined the battle. The Duke felt his head spin. An Erkynlander would never behave in such a dishonourable manner. But then again, should the man have died for his honour? Where was the honour in this war anyway, waged by a mad king for an unjust cause?
One more post to go.
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
Fantasy Author Reviews: Second Set
Robert A. Salvatore:
Salvatore is one of the most prolific of contemporary fantasy authors. His most memorable works are the Dark Elf Trilogy and the Icewind Dale Trilogy, which are based on the fantasy world called Forgotten Realms, which should be familiar to RPG gamers. It was in those books that he created and developed the unforgettable characters of Drizzt Do'Urden, the dark elf, and his companions, Wulfgar the barbarian, Bruenor the dwarf, Regis the halfling and Cattie Brie the human girl. Salvatore's description of the lands in these books has been absorbed into the definition of the Forgotten Relams, especially the sinister land of the Underdark, home to the Dark Elves. Drizzt is a "renegade" dark elf who forsakes the self-destructive and evil ways of his kin and escapes to the surface world, where he finds himself constantly hunted and judged by the colour of his skin and the deeds of his kind.
Salvatore's style is easy on the readers, and he tells his tales without embellishment, while building up the plot and characters in a well-paced manner. However, his talent should not be judged by the apparent simplicity of his style, as he never ceases to surprise me with the odd point of philosophy or irony. The beginning of each chapter in most of his series is a page from the diary of the lead character, be it Drizzt in the Dark Elf series, Elbryan the Ranger in the Demonwars Saga, or young Luthien Bedwyr in the Crimson Shadow series, and provides a refreshing, thought-provoking break from the action and the adventure of his books. Salvatore's strength, however, is definitely in the battles. Even though these are books, not movies, every sword thrust, parry and dodge is described in breathtaking and vivid detail, conjuring up a picture of the actual fight in your mind, scimitars, hammers, bows, arrows, shields, spells, dragon breath and all.
Salvatore's fame led to him being invited to write the official Star Wars novels for Episodes 1-3 based on the movies. Recently, though, Salvatore has tended to stretch the Drizzt story thin with sequels upon sequels, and the Second Demonwars trilogy is totally dark and sinister and not at all enjoyable. Overall, though, he is quite brilliant and definitely one of my favourite authors.
George R. R. Martin:
I am yet to read any of this guy's older novels, but I have read the first three books of the Song of Ice and Fire series, and they are absolutely amazing. Martin's books are quite different from traditional fantasy books in that they are meant for adults and not for teenage kids, resulting in a more mature and intense reading experience. There is less of overt magic and spell casting and such; rather, the magic is inherent in the world.
Martin excels in building layer upon layer of intrigue in the plot, and even experienced readers will be left guessing as twist after twist leaves you begging for more. Each of his characters are unique and well-defined; their futures on the other hand, are far from that. An exiled princess assembles an army to sail across the ocean and reclaim the throne. The five children of the King of the West, each on a separate, sorrowful yet courageous path. A surprisingly large number of plotters with mysterious objectives and unknown sides. A huge, if ragtag army of simple folk on the run from a nameless horror, where the dead walk the earth. The return of dragons, and old magic coming back to strength. A truly fascinating web indeed!
If there is one fault I find with Martin, it is that a couple of dead characters came back to life in the third book... reminding me of Robert Jordan's tendency to bring back the forsaken to life time and again! Lets hope the trend doesn't continue! At least, Martin has promised to finish the series with the 7th book.
Janny Wurts:
When I read Curse of the Mistwraith, first book of War of Light and Shadow, I couldn't help but think it was the most brilliant book I've ever read. Find my review of that book here.
Since then, my opinion of Wurts has lessened, though only by a bit. The pace of the series slows down after the first book, but it is still tremendously enjoyable and gripping. However, on reading some of her other novels, I discovered that the "tortured hero character" as one reader put it, is one of Wurts' favourite devices. However, she seems to have perfected it only in the aforementioned series. Her standalone novels somehow seem too packed and imperfectly paced. The Cycle of Fire trilogy seems pretty good though, upto the point I have read at least.
I find Wurts to be a really talented writer, and she fills in the void I find in most contemporary fantasy authors: flair and skill in writing. Couple it with the devious plots and ironies, meticulously built original fantasy worlds, and raw emotion that she weaves into her characters, and you can see why she is possibly my favourite fantasy author at the moment.
Feist fans have additional cause to rejoice: Wurts co-authored the Daughter of the Empire series with Raymond Feist, which is based on the world of Kelewan with the story running in parallel with the Riftwar Saga. I really enjoyed reading that series, especially since it had been a long time since I read Magician.
Salvatore is one of the most prolific of contemporary fantasy authors. His most memorable works are the Dark Elf Trilogy and the Icewind Dale Trilogy, which are based on the fantasy world called Forgotten Realms, which should be familiar to RPG gamers. It was in those books that he created and developed the unforgettable characters of Drizzt Do'Urden, the dark elf, and his companions, Wulfgar the barbarian, Bruenor the dwarf, Regis the halfling and Cattie Brie the human girl. Salvatore's description of the lands in these books has been absorbed into the definition of the Forgotten Relams, especially the sinister land of the Underdark, home to the Dark Elves. Drizzt is a "renegade" dark elf who forsakes the self-destructive and evil ways of his kin and escapes to the surface world, where he finds himself constantly hunted and judged by the colour of his skin and the deeds of his kind.
Salvatore's style is easy on the readers, and he tells his tales without embellishment, while building up the plot and characters in a well-paced manner. However, his talent should not be judged by the apparent simplicity of his style, as he never ceases to surprise me with the odd point of philosophy or irony. The beginning of each chapter in most of his series is a page from the diary of the lead character, be it Drizzt in the Dark Elf series, Elbryan the Ranger in the Demonwars Saga, or young Luthien Bedwyr in the Crimson Shadow series, and provides a refreshing, thought-provoking break from the action and the adventure of his books. Salvatore's strength, however, is definitely in the battles. Even though these are books, not movies, every sword thrust, parry and dodge is described in breathtaking and vivid detail, conjuring up a picture of the actual fight in your mind, scimitars, hammers, bows, arrows, shields, spells, dragon breath and all.
Salvatore's fame led to him being invited to write the official Star Wars novels for Episodes 1-3 based on the movies. Recently, though, Salvatore has tended to stretch the Drizzt story thin with sequels upon sequels, and the Second Demonwars trilogy is totally dark and sinister and not at all enjoyable. Overall, though, he is quite brilliant and definitely one of my favourite authors.
George R. R. Martin:
I am yet to read any of this guy's older novels, but I have read the first three books of the Song of Ice and Fire series, and they are absolutely amazing. Martin's books are quite different from traditional fantasy books in that they are meant for adults and not for teenage kids, resulting in a more mature and intense reading experience. There is less of overt magic and spell casting and such; rather, the magic is inherent in the world.
Martin excels in building layer upon layer of intrigue in the plot, and even experienced readers will be left guessing as twist after twist leaves you begging for more. Each of his characters are unique and well-defined; their futures on the other hand, are far from that. An exiled princess assembles an army to sail across the ocean and reclaim the throne. The five children of the King of the West, each on a separate, sorrowful yet courageous path. A surprisingly large number of plotters with mysterious objectives and unknown sides. A huge, if ragtag army of simple folk on the run from a nameless horror, where the dead walk the earth. The return of dragons, and old magic coming back to strength. A truly fascinating web indeed!
If there is one fault I find with Martin, it is that a couple of dead characters came back to life in the third book... reminding me of Robert Jordan's tendency to bring back the forsaken to life time and again! Lets hope the trend doesn't continue! At least, Martin has promised to finish the series with the 7th book.
Janny Wurts:
When I read Curse of the Mistwraith, first book of War of Light and Shadow, I couldn't help but think it was the most brilliant book I've ever read. Find my review of that book here.
Since then, my opinion of Wurts has lessened, though only by a bit. The pace of the series slows down after the first book, but it is still tremendously enjoyable and gripping. However, on reading some of her other novels, I discovered that the "tortured hero character" as one reader put it, is one of Wurts' favourite devices. However, she seems to have perfected it only in the aforementioned series. Her standalone novels somehow seem too packed and imperfectly paced. The Cycle of Fire trilogy seems pretty good though, upto the point I have read at least.
I find Wurts to be a really talented writer, and she fills in the void I find in most contemporary fantasy authors: flair and skill in writing. Couple it with the devious plots and ironies, meticulously built original fantasy worlds, and raw emotion that she weaves into her characters, and you can see why she is possibly my favourite fantasy author at the moment.
Feist fans have additional cause to rejoice: Wurts co-authored the Daughter of the Empire series with Raymond Feist, which is based on the world of Kelewan with the story running in parallel with the Riftwar Saga. I really enjoyed reading that series, especially since it had been a long time since I read Magician.
Saturday, December 17, 2005
Fantasy Author Reviews: First Set
Here is the long promised review of fantasy authors. Since there are so many of them, I am splitting this post into several parts. The order in which I have listed them does not correlate with my ranking or any other ranking for that matter.
Raymond Feist:
This guy is one of my favourite authors. Reading his book Magician was my first exposure to good contemporary fantasy fiction, and inspired me to read more and more fantasy, so much so that I don't think I even live in the real world anymore. Feist is a very balanced author; his strength is neither in plot, nor in characters, nor in building fantastic worlds or any other aspect of fantasy writing you can think of. All of Feist's series are interconnected, so that one can almost think of them as a single series of nearly twenty novels, but in truth all are readable as separate series. The Riftwar Saga starting with Magician is my all-time favourite.
Feist has an excellent imagination and players of role-playing games will appreciate the way in which his characters develop. Though magic is central to all the books, there is a sense of adventure in all the books that will draw the readers in. The books are enjoyable for people of all ages, though.
My favourite Feist character is a magician called Nakor who has a permanent grin and insists that there is no such thing as magic. Even upto Feist's most recent book, we never know who he actually is and how he came upon his immortality, or his powers, or other things (such as the codicil of the dead God of Knowledge which he reluctantly hands over to the priests).
A scene from the Riftwar series that I vividly remember (not the exact wordings though, so don't hold me to this):
Pug and Tomas finally spotted Macros at a clearing and Tomas guided the dragon toward him. Macros was jumping up and down and waving wildly. Pug smiled and waved back, but when they landed, Macros stopped and looked at them grimly.
"Now you've done it," he said.
"Done what?" asked Tomas.
"Triggered the time trap."
"Why didn't you warn us?"
"What do you think I was trying to do?"
"Oh! We thought you were just excited to see us!"
"At my age?!!!"
Ursula Le Guin:
Le Guin is primarily a science fiction author, and my favourite book of hers is The Dispossessed, which, though supposed to be science fiction, is essentially a book on social and political philosophy. In my opinion it is infinitely better than Aldous Huxley or Ayn Rand, though.
Le Guin is most famous for her sci-fi short stories, which, like Asimov's work, are based on the same galaxy and timeline but are completely standalone and thoroughly enjoyable. A hallmark of Le Guin is that her books are very thought-provoking and dwell equally on story-telling and human nature. There is a fantasy element to all of her science fiction through the worlds the events are based on, as well as things like mindspeech and the races on the different worlds. This adds an interesting dimension to her novels which is refreshing for die hard sci-fi fans.
Le Guin's best known fantasy series is Earthsea, and some of you might have seen the miniseries on television. Earthsea is a riveting tale of a wizard's journey in which he first, inadvertently spoils the balance of magic upon the world, and then labours tirelessly to restore the balance and bring peace to the lands of Earthsea. Le Guin pays special attention to the nature of magic upon Earthsea. A scene which I liked from the first book (again, the wording may be different):
Ged approached the door and found his way barred by magic yet again. The Door Keeper told him, "One final test before you can leave the island. What is my true name?"
Ged sat down to think and pondered upon which kind of spell would be powerful enough to trick or convince the Keeper to tell him his name. After a long time he finally went to him and said, "I cannot think of any way to take it from you. Hence, I can only pass if you give it to me of your own volition. I request you, as a friend: will you tell me your name?"
The Keeper smiled. And told him his name.
Robert Jordan:
The Wheel of Time series is getting famous these days, though ironically only the earlier books in the series are really good. After the fourth book, the series gradually becomes slow and dragging, though the overall spinning of the story is still good. Jordan builds a fantastic world in which Shai'tan, the dark one, who was sealed away into the void by the Creator at the beginning of time for all time, is slowly escaping and regaining his vile grip on the world. He escaped once before, but Lews Therin Telamon (nicknamed "The Dragon") and an army of male Aes Sedai, wielders of the One Power that is the Creator's gift to the world, surprised him when he was in council with his "Chosen" ones and banished him once more. However, by Shai'tan's counterstroke at the fateful moment, the male half of the power was tainted permanently, driving insane anyone who wields it. All the men among the Aes Sedai went mad and used their power indiscriminately, resulting in what is known as The Breaking of the World. It took centuries for the world to recover, and the female Aes Sedai labour to keep peace among men and watch for the dark one's return.
The first book starts when the seals start weakening, and the Dragon is reborn as per prophecy, and the dark one's agents, as well as the Aes Sedai, are trying to find out who he is. Then starts an amazing journey of a young man and his two companions, who knew naught but sheepherding and blacksmithing, to unite the world so that they may stand against the dark one on the day he breaks free again.
Central to Jordan's tale are the prophecies describing the rise of the Dragon Reborn and his defeat of the dark one on the day of reckoning, Tarmon Gai'don. But his real strength is the way in which he describes the recovery and use of the male and female halves of the Power. The other thing which Jordan does brilliantly is in the creation of the nations that comprise his world. Each has their own culture, characteristics and beliefs brought to life in front of the reader's eyes. My favourite Jordan quote is a proverb in the Border land of Shienar, which is closest to the wastelands inhabited by the dark one's minions: "Duty is a mountain, Death is a feather."
Egad... only three authors in this post?! Looks like this is going to take a long time...
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Raymond Feist:
This guy is one of my favourite authors. Reading his book Magician was my first exposure to good contemporary fantasy fiction, and inspired me to read more and more fantasy, so much so that I don't think I even live in the real world anymore. Feist is a very balanced author; his strength is neither in plot, nor in characters, nor in building fantastic worlds or any other aspect of fantasy writing you can think of. All of Feist's series are interconnected, so that one can almost think of them as a single series of nearly twenty novels, but in truth all are readable as separate series. The Riftwar Saga starting with Magician is my all-time favourite.
Feist has an excellent imagination and players of role-playing games will appreciate the way in which his characters develop. Though magic is central to all the books, there is a sense of adventure in all the books that will draw the readers in. The books are enjoyable for people of all ages, though.
My favourite Feist character is a magician called Nakor who has a permanent grin and insists that there is no such thing as magic. Even upto Feist's most recent book, we never know who he actually is and how he came upon his immortality, or his powers, or other things (such as the codicil of the dead God of Knowledge which he reluctantly hands over to the priests).
A scene from the Riftwar series that I vividly remember (not the exact wordings though, so don't hold me to this):
Pug and Tomas finally spotted Macros at a clearing and Tomas guided the dragon toward him. Macros was jumping up and down and waving wildly. Pug smiled and waved back, but when they landed, Macros stopped and looked at them grimly.
"Now you've done it," he said.
"Done what?" asked Tomas.
"Triggered the time trap."
"Why didn't you warn us?"
"What do you think I was trying to do?"
"Oh! We thought you were just excited to see us!"
"At my age?!!!"
Ursula Le Guin:
Le Guin is primarily a science fiction author, and my favourite book of hers is The Dispossessed, which, though supposed to be science fiction, is essentially a book on social and political philosophy. In my opinion it is infinitely better than Aldous Huxley or Ayn Rand, though.
Le Guin is most famous for her sci-fi short stories, which, like Asimov's work, are based on the same galaxy and timeline but are completely standalone and thoroughly enjoyable. A hallmark of Le Guin is that her books are very thought-provoking and dwell equally on story-telling and human nature. There is a fantasy element to all of her science fiction through the worlds the events are based on, as well as things like mindspeech and the races on the different worlds. This adds an interesting dimension to her novels which is refreshing for die hard sci-fi fans.
Le Guin's best known fantasy series is Earthsea, and some of you might have seen the miniseries on television. Earthsea is a riveting tale of a wizard's journey in which he first, inadvertently spoils the balance of magic upon the world, and then labours tirelessly to restore the balance and bring peace to the lands of Earthsea. Le Guin pays special attention to the nature of magic upon Earthsea. A scene which I liked from the first book (again, the wording may be different):
Ged approached the door and found his way barred by magic yet again. The Door Keeper told him, "One final test before you can leave the island. What is my true name?"
Ged sat down to think and pondered upon which kind of spell would be powerful enough to trick or convince the Keeper to tell him his name. After a long time he finally went to him and said, "I cannot think of any way to take it from you. Hence, I can only pass if you give it to me of your own volition. I request you, as a friend: will you tell me your name?"
The Keeper smiled. And told him his name.
Robert Jordan:
The Wheel of Time series is getting famous these days, though ironically only the earlier books in the series are really good. After the fourth book, the series gradually becomes slow and dragging, though the overall spinning of the story is still good. Jordan builds a fantastic world in which Shai'tan, the dark one, who was sealed away into the void by the Creator at the beginning of time for all time, is slowly escaping and regaining his vile grip on the world. He escaped once before, but Lews Therin Telamon (nicknamed "The Dragon") and an army of male Aes Sedai, wielders of the One Power that is the Creator's gift to the world, surprised him when he was in council with his "Chosen" ones and banished him once more. However, by Shai'tan's counterstroke at the fateful moment, the male half of the power was tainted permanently, driving insane anyone who wields it. All the men among the Aes Sedai went mad and used their power indiscriminately, resulting in what is known as The Breaking of the World. It took centuries for the world to recover, and the female Aes Sedai labour to keep peace among men and watch for the dark one's return.
The first book starts when the seals start weakening, and the Dragon is reborn as per prophecy, and the dark one's agents, as well as the Aes Sedai, are trying to find out who he is. Then starts an amazing journey of a young man and his two companions, who knew naught but sheepherding and blacksmithing, to unite the world so that they may stand against the dark one on the day he breaks free again.
Central to Jordan's tale are the prophecies describing the rise of the Dragon Reborn and his defeat of the dark one on the day of reckoning, Tarmon Gai'don. But his real strength is the way in which he describes the recovery and use of the male and female halves of the Power. The other thing which Jordan does brilliantly is in the creation of the nations that comprise his world. Each has their own culture, characteristics and beliefs brought to life in front of the reader's eyes. My favourite Jordan quote is a proverb in the Border land of Shienar, which is closest to the wastelands inhabited by the dark one's minions: "Duty is a mountain, Death is a feather."
Egad... only three authors in this post?! Looks like this is going to take a long time...
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
Zodiac signs
I hate stereotyping of any kind, especially when it comes to Zodiac signs. But somehow I keep ending up with friends who believe in Zodiac signs, and worse still, swear by their honour that I am a pukka Cancerian.
People, I am not your typical "sweet and sensitive" Cancerian. Thats two insults in one phrase. I am nasty and dangerous. I am Death. I am Destruction. GRRRRRR.... GRRROOWWWWLLLLL..... see?
People, I am not your typical "sweet and sensitive" Cancerian. Thats two insults in one phrase. I am nasty and dangerous. I am Death. I am Destruction. GRRRRRR.... GRRROOWWWWLLLLL..... see?
Saturday, December 10, 2005
Distance
What is it with distance and love? I received word that my brother has been very sick for the past few days. I find myself filled with anxiety and affection for him, more than I think I ever felt while I was at home!
I badly miss my friends from IIT. Yet I dare not call them up, for fear it will make me feel worse later. And what's more, I feel guilty that I spent more time with my books or computer games than I did with them in those days. Time that will never come back.
I guess I will never think about time and distance in the same way I used to, and Einstein be damned.
I badly miss my friends from IIT. Yet I dare not call them up, for fear it will make me feel worse later. And what's more, I feel guilty that I spent more time with my books or computer games than I did with them in those days. Time that will never come back.
I guess I will never think about time and distance in the same way I used to, and Einstein be damned.
Friday, December 02, 2005
The other side
My weekly game at the State College bridge club. On one set of boards, I chanced to be seated at a table where all three other players were faculty at Penn State. My partner, a Distinguished Professor at the Smeal College of Business, expresses his eagerness for the impending end of the semester.
Now, bear in mind that I've been in one college or the other for 5 1/2 years of my life, during which period I have the dubious distinction of chalking up a Bachelors degree, a Masters degree, and 1/8th of a Doctorate degree. Naturally, I believe that most profs are imperfect teachers, unfair graders, and do not devote enough time to students. So, somewhat annoyed that a prof be complaining about the trials of the semester, I interject, "Hey! It's the students that should be saying that, not the profs!"
My partner smiles and replies, "What, you think students are the only ones who are glad when a semester gets over?"
For the next 2 minutes, I am privy to a discussion in a world where there is never enough time away from the responsibilities of a full time professor, the students are often annoying, and the vacations are precious time spent with home and family.
My main thought was, "Hmmm.... if students as well as profs are glad when a sem gets over, then thats scope for... camaraderie?" *shudder* The horror of it! Shut that thought.
It struck me then that I was playing bridge in a room with 7 profs, three of whom were at my table, discussing deals, sharing jokes and talking about family.
If there are two sides to a coin, should they be kept separate?
A year or two ago, I would have said yes without hesitation. But I have found a marked difference in my rapport with profs in the past year and a half. I ascribe it partly to the change from undergrad to grad, and partly to the change from an Indian university to an American university. I wonder, for other grad students, is the Ph.D period like an adolescence period, when the barriers are dropped, and then the doctoral student "crosses over" to an Assistant Professor?
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Now, bear in mind that I've been in one college or the other for 5 1/2 years of my life, during which period I have the dubious distinction of chalking up a Bachelors degree, a Masters degree, and 1/8th of a Doctorate degree. Naturally, I believe that most profs are imperfect teachers, unfair graders, and do not devote enough time to students. So, somewhat annoyed that a prof be complaining about the trials of the semester, I interject, "Hey! It's the students that should be saying that, not the profs!"
My partner smiles and replies, "What, you think students are the only ones who are glad when a semester gets over?"
For the next 2 minutes, I am privy to a discussion in a world where there is never enough time away from the responsibilities of a full time professor, the students are often annoying, and the vacations are precious time spent with home and family.
My main thought was, "Hmmm.... if students as well as profs are glad when a sem gets over, then thats scope for... camaraderie?" *shudder* The horror of it! Shut that thought.
It struck me then that I was playing bridge in a room with 7 profs, three of whom were at my table, discussing deals, sharing jokes and talking about family.
If there are two sides to a coin, should they be kept separate?
A year or two ago, I would have said yes without hesitation. But I have found a marked difference in my rapport with profs in the past year and a half. I ascribe it partly to the change from undergrad to grad, and partly to the change from an Indian university to an American university. I wonder, for other grad students, is the Ph.D period like an adolescence period, when the barriers are dropped, and then the doctoral student "crosses over" to an Assistant Professor?
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Monday, November 28, 2005
Telephone Conversation
K: How old are you, Pacha?
Me: Twenty Two.
K: Why on earth are you playing bridge at your age instead of chasing after women?
Me: Because I've had more than enough of the latter.
K (in a mock shocked tone): A guy can never have enough of the latter!
What say you, my friends? :)
Me: Twenty Two.
K: Why on earth are you playing bridge at your age instead of chasing after women?
Me: Because I've had more than enough of the latter.
K (in a mock shocked tone): A guy can never have enough of the latter!
What say you, my friends? :)
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
Re-Organization, Self-Organization, Complexity, Chaos and God: Part 2
One of the main arguments employed by the propagandists of the Intelligent Design (ID) theory is that there is a remarkable amount of order in the universe. This is in spite of the Second Law of Thermodynamics (approximately stated thus): "The Entropy, or degree of disorder, of a closed system can only increase". If there is nobody out there controlling things, how does order persist?
The answer lies partly in the Theory of Chaos; partly in the Theory of Self-organization; and partly in the Fundamental Laws of Nature. Before I dive into these topics, I want you to imagine the following conversation between a Priest and a Scientist:
Priest: The four seasons drive the rhythm of life. There is beauty, purpose and order to it. How can you deny that it is the work of God?
Scientist: The four seasons occur because of the tilt of the Earth and the manner in which it revolves about the Sun. I don't see what God has to do with it.
Priest: Ah, but who caused the Earth to tilt and rotate in that manner?
Scientist: The Laws of Gravity and Motion are more than sufficient to explain it.
Priest: And who defined those laws and brought them into our reality?
Here the Scientist is stuck. For all the proofs and explanations that Science derives, it is still based on certain axioms and fundamental laws, which can't be proved; they just are. Chew on this for a while... but for now, some geeky stuff...
One of the Fundamental precepts of the Theory of Chaos is that there is Order in Chaos. If something is entirely unpredictable, then it is random: which is very different from saying that it is chaotic. A chaotic system is merely one that cannot be simplified by studying on a smaller scale, eg. calculus, or a larger scale, eg. statistics. And a basic characteristic of many, perhaps all, chaotic systems is the presence of an "Attractor".
An Attractor is a stable state of a system. If the system is mildly disturbed, it still returns, for no apparent reason, to the same state; give it a large enough disturbance and it equally inexplicably goes into a fluctuating, disorderly state that we call chaos. The ecological balance is a good example of this. The presence of the attractor gives these systems a self-organizing nature, that can be mathematically predicted. Nothing mysterious or magical about them, once you've run the Matlab simulation and seen for yourself!!
However, in general, when you talk about a self-organizing system, you are usually talking about the existence of an "intelligence". We are so used to the way humans run things that we can only think of intelligence as a centralized entity; hence a lot of things that are controlled by no visible central mind get attributed to God. However, it is often noticed that distributed dumbness can behave like centralized intelligence!
I know I said I'll explain distributed systems in this post, but it looks like it'll have to wait for the next one...
Cheers,
Prashanth.
The answer lies partly in the Theory of Chaos; partly in the Theory of Self-organization; and partly in the Fundamental Laws of Nature. Before I dive into these topics, I want you to imagine the following conversation between a Priest and a Scientist:
Priest: The four seasons drive the rhythm of life. There is beauty, purpose and order to it. How can you deny that it is the work of God?
Scientist: The four seasons occur because of the tilt of the Earth and the manner in which it revolves about the Sun. I don't see what God has to do with it.
Priest: Ah, but who caused the Earth to tilt and rotate in that manner?
Scientist: The Laws of Gravity and Motion are more than sufficient to explain it.
Priest: And who defined those laws and brought them into our reality?
Here the Scientist is stuck. For all the proofs and explanations that Science derives, it is still based on certain axioms and fundamental laws, which can't be proved; they just are. Chew on this for a while... but for now, some geeky stuff...
One of the Fundamental precepts of the Theory of Chaos is that there is Order in Chaos. If something is entirely unpredictable, then it is random: which is very different from saying that it is chaotic. A chaotic system is merely one that cannot be simplified by studying on a smaller scale, eg. calculus, or a larger scale, eg. statistics. And a basic characteristic of many, perhaps all, chaotic systems is the presence of an "Attractor".
An Attractor is a stable state of a system. If the system is mildly disturbed, it still returns, for no apparent reason, to the same state; give it a large enough disturbance and it equally inexplicably goes into a fluctuating, disorderly state that we call chaos. The ecological balance is a good example of this. The presence of the attractor gives these systems a self-organizing nature, that can be mathematically predicted. Nothing mysterious or magical about them, once you've run the Matlab simulation and seen for yourself!!
However, in general, when you talk about a self-organizing system, you are usually talking about the existence of an "intelligence". We are so used to the way humans run things that we can only think of intelligence as a centralized entity; hence a lot of things that are controlled by no visible central mind get attributed to God. However, it is often noticed that distributed dumbness can behave like centralized intelligence!
I know I said I'll explain distributed systems in this post, but it looks like it'll have to wait for the next one...
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Sunday, November 20, 2005
Re-Organization, Self-Organization, Complexity, Chaos and God: Part 1
If you were to re-organize a system, how would you go about doing it? Baal and I have spent hours arguing on this over the years (we had our reasons, believe me!), and emerged on two clearly opposite sides: I was all for the top-down approach, and Baal was for the bottom-up approach.
Imagine that there is a group of people, and you want them to change in some manner.
View #1: Leadership is the key to change. All great revolutions in the world happened because of great leaders. A leader who has vision and intelligence, is a dynamic individual capable of leading by example, and has the charisma to sway the people to the cause, is what you need. Bold changes call for bold decisions by bold leaders, and if the leader knows how to lead, the people will follow.
View #2: All changes wrought from the top or "management" is doomed to failure. By coercing, coaxing or enticing people to do what you want, you will never achieve your purpose, as any change is temporary, and any action is half-hearted. What you really ought to do is to spend time in educating the people with regard to your purpose. You need to bring about a change in culture: that is best achieved by preaching to them, changing them slowly but surely at the heart. Once your purpose is ingrained in every person, they will be willing and dedicated.
Sure, there is a middle path, but the basic question is one of philosophy, so you can't be a cat on the wall.
To my amusement, the same question appears to have been posed to the Tamil public through the movies Indhiyan and Anniyan. In the former, the hero tries to bring corrupt politicians and bureaucrats back in line by threatening, and doing, murder. In the latter, the hero urges the people to bring themselves back in line, to follow law and ethics to the letter, in order for our country to improve. Naturally, I'm oversimplifying here, but those who have seen the movies will understand, and those who haven't will need a LOT more explaining.
Having said that I was a staunch supporter of the top-down approach, I must say here that my stance has been eroded by the unlikeliest of entities: my courses! In the next post, I will explain to you the concepts of self-organization and distributed control, and how simple rules can drive complex behaviour.
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Imagine that there is a group of people, and you want them to change in some manner.
View #1: Leadership is the key to change. All great revolutions in the world happened because of great leaders. A leader who has vision and intelligence, is a dynamic individual capable of leading by example, and has the charisma to sway the people to the cause, is what you need. Bold changes call for bold decisions by bold leaders, and if the leader knows how to lead, the people will follow.
View #2: All changes wrought from the top or "management" is doomed to failure. By coercing, coaxing or enticing people to do what you want, you will never achieve your purpose, as any change is temporary, and any action is half-hearted. What you really ought to do is to spend time in educating the people with regard to your purpose. You need to bring about a change in culture: that is best achieved by preaching to them, changing them slowly but surely at the heart. Once your purpose is ingrained in every person, they will be willing and dedicated.
Sure, there is a middle path, but the basic question is one of philosophy, so you can't be a cat on the wall.
To my amusement, the same question appears to have been posed to the Tamil public through the movies Indhiyan and Anniyan. In the former, the hero tries to bring corrupt politicians and bureaucrats back in line by threatening, and doing, murder. In the latter, the hero urges the people to bring themselves back in line, to follow law and ethics to the letter, in order for our country to improve. Naturally, I'm oversimplifying here, but those who have seen the movies will understand, and those who haven't will need a LOT more explaining.
Having said that I was a staunch supporter of the top-down approach, I must say here that my stance has been eroded by the unlikeliest of entities: my courses! In the next post, I will explain to you the concepts of self-organization and distributed control, and how simple rules can drive complex behaviour.
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Monday, November 14, 2005
Great Expectations
All of a sudden, everyone's become an expert on me. Rahul says I'm smart enough that I have no excuse for not scoring straight A's, and that I ought to get off my lazy rump reading fantasy novels and put my nose to the grinding stone. My brother was not so mild; he said that with only 3 courses and no TA/RA responsibilities, I'd better score straight A's - or else!!
I guess 5 years of academic humiliation in an IIT has taught me to lower my expectations. That's wrong, isn't it? If you don't aim higher, you'll never go higher.
So, I stow away my novels in the bookshelf, keeping an eye out for the due date. I have only one computer game installed on my machine, and I've lost the heart to play it for now. My plans for buying Civilization IV have to wait till the winter vacations. No bridge this week, and only once a week for the 3 weeks after this.
I'll blog again during the thanksgiving break, but until then, I'm keeping to the grinding stone. Ouch! My nose....
Cheers,
Prashanth.
I guess 5 years of academic humiliation in an IIT has taught me to lower my expectations. That's wrong, isn't it? If you don't aim higher, you'll never go higher.
So, I stow away my novels in the bookshelf, keeping an eye out for the due date. I have only one computer game installed on my machine, and I've lost the heart to play it for now. My plans for buying Civilization IV have to wait till the winter vacations. No bridge this week, and only once a week for the 3 weeks after this.
I'll blog again during the thanksgiving break, but until then, I'm keeping to the grinding stone. Ouch! My nose....
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Saturday, November 05, 2005
Burn and learn
My first fried rice was pronounced fired rice. My second attempt resulted in something my teeth had trouble chewing and my tongue had trouble identifying. Since then I've managed to make it palatable and even introduced some variety in it.
I still mess up my sambhar. It never comes out even close to the way it was at home.
The taste of my poriyal is a wildly fluctuating random variable. Sometimes it tastes so good and similar to my Mom's that it brings tears to my eyes. Sometimes it's so terrible I have no words to describe it.
But at grad school, cooking is like research. It's do or die. And hope that in time you do it well enough that people are happy with it rather than give grudging acceptance.
So, this diwali, in an atmosphere absolutely alien in the sense that I felt empty without my Mom's sweets; or the new Tamil movies on TV; or the harmless "vengayam vedi" crackers that my brother and I would throw at each others' feet; or the non-stop 10,000 walas and colourful sky fireworks in neighbouring Jaya aunty's house, I thought I'd try to cook some Indian food to bring some cheer to the apartment.
Out comes my Mom's first cookbook. She wrote it in 1988. I was a little kid then, but I still remember vividly the cover of the first print. It looked really stupid, but being a kid I couldn't point that out. My parents never understood that I understood. They still don't. Anyway, we could not afford to do a more professional job of it at that time. But I digress. The first recipe is a gravy called Dhariwala. I've known that much for 17 years. But for the first time I actually read it with the intention of remembering it and preparing it.
I did not have many of the ingredients to make it exactly the way it was. So I recalled my Mom's general guidelines on how to make such gravies, and closed the book and tried my own hand at it. Apart from the fact that I'd underestimated the tomato puree and I'd added a little less spice than I ought to, it came out ok. Amazingly well, in fact, for a first attempt.
Of course, the gravy is meant to go with a roti or chappathi. I had bought some flour that I hoped would be close to what we use back home, and I tried to remember my Mom's instructions on how to make chappathis. I started out in earnest, but alas, the fates were not kind to me. I forgot to oil the lining of the mixing bowl. I forgot to add salt to the dough. I had a really tough job kneading the dough, and an even tougher job rolling it. Everytime I rolled it, it would compress back into a smaller circle.
Since it was taking me so long to roll it, I decided to roll first and cook them on the pan later. Big mistake. I had taken the precaution of adding some flour on the surface of each chappathi(!) to prevent them from sticking together, but it wasn't enough. After 20 minutes of rolling, I realized that they were all stuck together and I had to start over. Fortunately, reinforcements arrived. My roommate whose turn it was to cook appeared and was pleasantly surprised to see me taking such pains on, apparently, his behalf.
So, I re-rolled while he cooked them on the tawa. They came out thick and really tough to chew, and tasted like a hybrid of chappathi, roti, paratha, nan and kulcha, and I dubbed them "my nameless creations". They were edible, but just barely. It had taken me a total of 3 hours to do all the cooking, even with my friend's help towards the end. The kitchen looked like a disaster zone and my nameless creations were proof of the tragedy.
I guess I ought to have been disappointed. Cowed. Frustrated. But somehow, at the end of it all, I wore a smile and felt like I'd won a minor victory.
The proof of the pudding, perhaps, is in the attempt itself and not in the eating.
Cheers,
Prashanth.
I still mess up my sambhar. It never comes out even close to the way it was at home.
The taste of my poriyal is a wildly fluctuating random variable. Sometimes it tastes so good and similar to my Mom's that it brings tears to my eyes. Sometimes it's so terrible I have no words to describe it.
But at grad school, cooking is like research. It's do or die. And hope that in time you do it well enough that people are happy with it rather than give grudging acceptance.
So, this diwali, in an atmosphere absolutely alien in the sense that I felt empty without my Mom's sweets; or the new Tamil movies on TV; or the harmless "vengayam vedi" crackers that my brother and I would throw at each others' feet; or the non-stop 10,000 walas and colourful sky fireworks in neighbouring Jaya aunty's house, I thought I'd try to cook some Indian food to bring some cheer to the apartment.
Out comes my Mom's first cookbook. She wrote it in 1988. I was a little kid then, but I still remember vividly the cover of the first print. It looked really stupid, but being a kid I couldn't point that out. My parents never understood that I understood. They still don't. Anyway, we could not afford to do a more professional job of it at that time. But I digress. The first recipe is a gravy called Dhariwala. I've known that much for 17 years. But for the first time I actually read it with the intention of remembering it and preparing it.
I did not have many of the ingredients to make it exactly the way it was. So I recalled my Mom's general guidelines on how to make such gravies, and closed the book and tried my own hand at it. Apart from the fact that I'd underestimated the tomato puree and I'd added a little less spice than I ought to, it came out ok. Amazingly well, in fact, for a first attempt.
Of course, the gravy is meant to go with a roti or chappathi. I had bought some flour that I hoped would be close to what we use back home, and I tried to remember my Mom's instructions on how to make chappathis. I started out in earnest, but alas, the fates were not kind to me. I forgot to oil the lining of the mixing bowl. I forgot to add salt to the dough. I had a really tough job kneading the dough, and an even tougher job rolling it. Everytime I rolled it, it would compress back into a smaller circle.
Since it was taking me so long to roll it, I decided to roll first and cook them on the pan later. Big mistake. I had taken the precaution of adding some flour on the surface of each chappathi(!) to prevent them from sticking together, but it wasn't enough. After 20 minutes of rolling, I realized that they were all stuck together and I had to start over. Fortunately, reinforcements arrived. My roommate whose turn it was to cook appeared and was pleasantly surprised to see me taking such pains on, apparently, his behalf.
So, I re-rolled while he cooked them on the tawa. They came out thick and really tough to chew, and tasted like a hybrid of chappathi, roti, paratha, nan and kulcha, and I dubbed them "my nameless creations". They were edible, but just barely. It had taken me a total of 3 hours to do all the cooking, even with my friend's help towards the end. The kitchen looked like a disaster zone and my nameless creations were proof of the tragedy.
I guess I ought to have been disappointed. Cowed. Frustrated. But somehow, at the end of it all, I wore a smile and felt like I'd won a minor victory.
The proof of the pudding, perhaps, is in the attempt itself and not in the eating.
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
It's snowing!
It's snowing! It's snowing!
Another first for me...
The snow is one month ahead of schedule I think... this is going to be one bad winter...
It's so beautiful outside. Like one of those shimmering paintings. I think I'll go make a snowman. One with a long nose.
Who's ready for a snowball fight?
Another first for me...
The snow is one month ahead of schedule I think... this is going to be one bad winter...
It's so beautiful outside. Like one of those shimmering paintings. I think I'll go make a snowman. One with a long nose.
Who's ready for a snowball fight?
Brrrrrrrrrr
The temperature today dropped below 37 F. Thats about 3 C. Which is officially the coldest temperature I have ever experienced. I could actually see my breath turn into mist in front of my eyes. And it's not even November yet.
My friends assure me that by the time January arrives, I will be begging the devil to take me to hell, if only for the fact that it will be warmer there.
*sigh* From Chennai to Northern USA... half a world of difference... my mind knew it, but now my body knows it.
Brrrrrrrrrrrrrr
My friends assure me that by the time January arrives, I will be begging the devil to take me to hell, if only for the fact that it will be warmer there.
*sigh* From Chennai to Northern USA... half a world of difference... my mind knew it, but now my body knows it.
Brrrrrrrrrrrrrr
Thursday, October 20, 2005
Waking up...
About half an hour ago, I woke up with a start. I must have had an unpleasant dream. Still groggy and confused, the room around me slammed into focus.
In that fraction of a second, I felt the shock of waking up in unfamiliar surroundings. Where am I? What is this mess beside me? I would never allow my hostel room, leave alone my bedroom, to be in such disarray, that too near the beginning of a semster (in a corner of my mind I knew it was near the beginning of the semester). I should be seeing the shelf of my hostel room, or the window of my bedroom...
Just for a fraction of a second. As soon as my eyes focussed, I knew where I was. Of course there was a mess. I've not yet gotten around to buying shelves or racks for organizing anything.
I closed my eyes in near physical pain. Two months of waking up in this room; yet, I do not hold it a shred of affection to even think of calling it "home".
Strange how the mind works. I think I had some kind of nightmare, and unconsciously, I groped for the loved and the familiar.
I shuddered, but it was not from the cold.
Give it time.
Give it time.
I chanted in my mind, in a vain attempt to employ the calming meditation exercises that I'd learnt as a child, and forgotten and left by the side of the road of life, one among a million other things I've left behind while growing up.
When I first joined IIT, it took me 4 months to bring myself to accept the unfamiliar hostel life and stop myself from running back home the moment I felt like it. Why should it be any different here? It is in my nature to take time to adjust to any change.
Of course, now I can't just get on my motorbike and ride across the Atlantic Ocean, can I? I don't even have a motorbike now.
I tottered to my feet and from some hidden well of strength, forced myself into the calm mental bubble that is my shield.
And here I am, blogging. Don't worry, guys. I have endured worse.
Cheers,
Prashanth.
In that fraction of a second, I felt the shock of waking up in unfamiliar surroundings. Where am I? What is this mess beside me? I would never allow my hostel room, leave alone my bedroom, to be in such disarray, that too near the beginning of a semster (in a corner of my mind I knew it was near the beginning of the semester). I should be seeing the shelf of my hostel room, or the window of my bedroom...
Just for a fraction of a second. As soon as my eyes focussed, I knew where I was. Of course there was a mess. I've not yet gotten around to buying shelves or racks for organizing anything.
I closed my eyes in near physical pain. Two months of waking up in this room; yet, I do not hold it a shred of affection to even think of calling it "home".
Strange how the mind works. I think I had some kind of nightmare, and unconsciously, I groped for the loved and the familiar.
I shuddered, but it was not from the cold.
Give it time.
Give it time.
I chanted in my mind, in a vain attempt to employ the calming meditation exercises that I'd learnt as a child, and forgotten and left by the side of the road of life, one among a million other things I've left behind while growing up.
When I first joined IIT, it took me 4 months to bring myself to accept the unfamiliar hostel life and stop myself from running back home the moment I felt like it. Why should it be any different here? It is in my nature to take time to adjust to any change.
Of course, now I can't just get on my motorbike and ride across the Atlantic Ocean, can I? I don't even have a motorbike now.
I tottered to my feet and from some hidden well of strength, forced myself into the calm mental bubble that is my shield.
And here I am, blogging. Don't worry, guys. I have endured worse.
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
Chauvinists?
I would have gladly ignored the comments on the previous post and proceeded to talk about some entirely different topic; but then I read this post on Divya's blog and it sparked off memories of past conversations with girls. What I have to say here is on somewhat different lines, though.
I cannot claim to understand women. Do you think I am saying it because it is something every man has attempted since creation and not been succesful at? No. I say it because it implicitly stereotypes women. And minds are like snowflakes: for all the underlying similarities, no two are alike. In knowing one, you cannot claim to know any more by virtue of that knowledge.
Yet, after centuries of Indian culture and tradition imposed upon them, it seems to me that there seems to be some sort of consensus between women regarding the world around us, and towards men in general. It is so subtle, so tacit and implicit that no woman from another culture and no man at all can hope to understand it fully. But perhaps in the trying of that very understanding lies our salvation.
It seems to me that Men, by default, are guilty of Male Chauvinism in the eyes of women until proven innocent. Perhaps the degree of the initial "judgement" varies with the person; but most women start off by assuming that a man considers women to be inferior to men in some way. After careful consideration I have come to believe that the statistics prove this to be the correct assumption. There is no harm in saying that women are physically weaker than men, because it seems to me plain fact. Here I support the army generals who oppose the creation of female squadrons, because it often results in a relaxing of physical standards and leaves them with a smaller chance of survival on even ground with men in a true battle.
However, I think most men also feel that women are intellectually inferior, and this I oppose. While I was growing up in school, I topped the class "because of my intelligence", but if a girl topped a test it was "because she is good at mugging and remembering". As a child I grew up to believe it as irrefutable, universal truth. Fortunately, there was some truth in me being intelligent and I gradually learnt to judge people impartially. But how many boys grew out of it as completely as I did?
The t-shirt of the girls' hostel in my college read "The world is unfair. In our favour." Most women become indignant at the hint of allegation that they did not deserve to reach the position they did. But among men, it is commonplace knowledge that it is easier for a woman to get a job than a man with the same qualifications. Or an admit to a reputed university. Or that nice project that will make a vital addition to your resume. Here I do not disagree. Usually the reason is as simple as the fact that the ratio of men to women at a workplace or university must be maintained at a optimum level, and there are always a lot more men applying than women.
But this is not because women are intellectually inferior in any way to men, but because of a simple lack of equal opportunity. In principle, there may be equal opportunity for all who apply to a job. But think about the underlying social structure. Don't you agree that a person from a poor family finds it difficult to obtain resources for his own growth? Obviously those who have little money do not have equal opportunity as the relatively well off. The next time someone tells you that the IIT-JEE is a purely merit-based exam, remind him that a less intelligent person may get in thanks to better training facilities available to him, and like all exams, preparation is as vital as basic intelligence.
In the same way, women are expected to do certain duties. They must learn to be good housekeepers. And cooks. And raise the children. And a lot of other things. It may seem to be a fair division of labour for the men to go to work everyday and come back exhausted and find that their house is clean, the children are taken care of, and there is good, warm food on the table. But who made the decision for that particular division of labour? Not the women.
Yet another factor is simply in the basic predilections of people. It occurs to me that the reason why there so few women in fields like engineering is simply because they prefer something else. Arts. Music. Literature. The fairer sex find different things interesting than us men. Unfortunately, in India, such things are disdainfully considered as less than appropriate professions. Hence, there seem to be less women around in the professional circles.
Do read this post of mine. The invisible weight of centuries of custom and tradition bends today's woman into continuing to give priority to housekeeping rather than professional life. For if they do not take care of the home and children, who will?
Yet, change augurs a better future. In the past, women might have been considered more as objects than people. But every successive generation is more open minded than the previous. If today, I swear that I will try to share the cooking duties equally with my wife, tomorrow a man might say, "Wife! You go to office. I will do a part time job and raise the kids."
Well, maybe not tomorrow, but perhaps some day!
Cheers,
Prashanth.
I cannot claim to understand women. Do you think I am saying it because it is something every man has attempted since creation and not been succesful at? No. I say it because it implicitly stereotypes women. And minds are like snowflakes: for all the underlying similarities, no two are alike. In knowing one, you cannot claim to know any more by virtue of that knowledge.
Yet, after centuries of Indian culture and tradition imposed upon them, it seems to me that there seems to be some sort of consensus between women regarding the world around us, and towards men in general. It is so subtle, so tacit and implicit that no woman from another culture and no man at all can hope to understand it fully. But perhaps in the trying of that very understanding lies our salvation.
It seems to me that Men, by default, are guilty of Male Chauvinism in the eyes of women until proven innocent. Perhaps the degree of the initial "judgement" varies with the person; but most women start off by assuming that a man considers women to be inferior to men in some way. After careful consideration I have come to believe that the statistics prove this to be the correct assumption. There is no harm in saying that women are physically weaker than men, because it seems to me plain fact. Here I support the army generals who oppose the creation of female squadrons, because it often results in a relaxing of physical standards and leaves them with a smaller chance of survival on even ground with men in a true battle.
However, I think most men also feel that women are intellectually inferior, and this I oppose. While I was growing up in school, I topped the class "because of my intelligence", but if a girl topped a test it was "because she is good at mugging and remembering". As a child I grew up to believe it as irrefutable, universal truth. Fortunately, there was some truth in me being intelligent and I gradually learnt to judge people impartially. But how many boys grew out of it as completely as I did?
The t-shirt of the girls' hostel in my college read "The world is unfair. In our favour." Most women become indignant at the hint of allegation that they did not deserve to reach the position they did. But among men, it is commonplace knowledge that it is easier for a woman to get a job than a man with the same qualifications. Or an admit to a reputed university. Or that nice project that will make a vital addition to your resume. Here I do not disagree. Usually the reason is as simple as the fact that the ratio of men to women at a workplace or university must be maintained at a optimum level, and there are always a lot more men applying than women.
But this is not because women are intellectually inferior in any way to men, but because of a simple lack of equal opportunity. In principle, there may be equal opportunity for all who apply to a job. But think about the underlying social structure. Don't you agree that a person from a poor family finds it difficult to obtain resources for his own growth? Obviously those who have little money do not have equal opportunity as the relatively well off. The next time someone tells you that the IIT-JEE is a purely merit-based exam, remind him that a less intelligent person may get in thanks to better training facilities available to him, and like all exams, preparation is as vital as basic intelligence.
In the same way, women are expected to do certain duties. They must learn to be good housekeepers. And cooks. And raise the children. And a lot of other things. It may seem to be a fair division of labour for the men to go to work everyday and come back exhausted and find that their house is clean, the children are taken care of, and there is good, warm food on the table. But who made the decision for that particular division of labour? Not the women.
Yet another factor is simply in the basic predilections of people. It occurs to me that the reason why there so few women in fields like engineering is simply because they prefer something else. Arts. Music. Literature. The fairer sex find different things interesting than us men. Unfortunately, in India, such things are disdainfully considered as less than appropriate professions. Hence, there seem to be less women around in the professional circles.
Do read this post of mine. The invisible weight of centuries of custom and tradition bends today's woman into continuing to give priority to housekeeping rather than professional life. For if they do not take care of the home and children, who will?
Yet, change augurs a better future. In the past, women might have been considered more as objects than people. But every successive generation is more open minded than the previous. If today, I swear that I will try to share the cooking duties equally with my wife, tomorrow a man might say, "Wife! You go to office. I will do a part time job and raise the kids."
Well, maybe not tomorrow, but perhaps some day!
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Sunday, October 16, 2005
Freedom
If I could put my finger on the one thing that I liked best about my life in IIT, it was my freedom. As opposed to the leave home - go to college - come back home life of my other friends, the life where Mom will always ask you where you are going if you go out, and worry if you come back late, life in an IIT hostel is a quantum jump in terms of what you can do with your time.
I had the freedom to eat and sleep when I wished. The freedom to talk to whomever I wanted, whenever I wanted, and for however long I wanted. The freedom to explore new hobbies. The freedom to study when and how I wished. The freedom to go when and where I wished. The freedom to organize my time in anyway I wanted. The freedom to drink or smoke or dope, if ever I wished such things. I had the freedom to lead my life the way I wanted.
Nobody can ever claim to have done only the right things with their freedom. Living free is a constant learning experience. I like to think that freedom is just like any other power. You can use or misuse it. If you are smart enough, you will learn how to handle it and do great things with it. If not, you will come to gravely regret your actions in the future. But freedom is a necessary thing. Nothing is ever gained in life without risk.
I recognize the wonderful gift that freedom is. My way of showing my love to my girlfriend / wife / children will be through freedom, and not by possessiveness or protectiveness. Temper freedom with guidance, not with rules.
Life in the US is a higher realization of the same freedom. I doubt if many of them even understand what a gift they hold in their palms, or what they can do with it. Friday and Saturday nights in the downtown area reveals a side of the American culture that I find inexplicable. Their definition of having fun or "Partying" seems to be getting drunk, talking lewd, hooting, squealing, and craziness in general. What satisfaction can a person derive from that? It seems like a temporary letting off of steam from the rigours of daily work. It rings a phoney note.
I was even more surprised to see some of my own friends doing things they wouldn't dare to do back in India. This Friday night a bunch of them set out with the sole intent of getting fully drunk. One guy threw up outside a bar and had an unpleasant episode with the cops. One other came back home and then threw up. I'm censoring a lot of stuff here, mind you, out of respect for them. They are, after all, my friends.
Yet, I feel no bitterness, no rancour, no anger, no hate, not even disgust at the behaviour I see around me. Instead, I feel a distinct sense of sadness. And pity. If they but had true love in their lives, they would see the hollowness of their actions.
Cheers,
Prashanth.
I had the freedom to eat and sleep when I wished. The freedom to talk to whomever I wanted, whenever I wanted, and for however long I wanted. The freedom to explore new hobbies. The freedom to study when and how I wished. The freedom to go when and where I wished. The freedom to organize my time in anyway I wanted. The freedom to drink or smoke or dope, if ever I wished such things. I had the freedom to lead my life the way I wanted.
Nobody can ever claim to have done only the right things with their freedom. Living free is a constant learning experience. I like to think that freedom is just like any other power. You can use or misuse it. If you are smart enough, you will learn how to handle it and do great things with it. If not, you will come to gravely regret your actions in the future. But freedom is a necessary thing. Nothing is ever gained in life without risk.
I recognize the wonderful gift that freedom is. My way of showing my love to my girlfriend / wife / children will be through freedom, and not by possessiveness or protectiveness. Temper freedom with guidance, not with rules.
Life in the US is a higher realization of the same freedom. I doubt if many of them even understand what a gift they hold in their palms, or what they can do with it. Friday and Saturday nights in the downtown area reveals a side of the American culture that I find inexplicable. Their definition of having fun or "Partying" seems to be getting drunk, talking lewd, hooting, squealing, and craziness in general. What satisfaction can a person derive from that? It seems like a temporary letting off of steam from the rigours of daily work. It rings a phoney note.
I was even more surprised to see some of my own friends doing things they wouldn't dare to do back in India. This Friday night a bunch of them set out with the sole intent of getting fully drunk. One guy threw up outside a bar and had an unpleasant episode with the cops. One other came back home and then threw up. I'm censoring a lot of stuff here, mind you, out of respect for them. They are, after all, my friends.
Yet, I feel no bitterness, no rancour, no anger, no hate, not even disgust at the behaviour I see around me. Instead, I feel a distinct sense of sadness. And pity. If they but had true love in their lives, they would see the hollowness of their actions.
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
Change
While browsing the wealth of books at the public library, I came across, by chance, upon a series of three novels by Roger MacBride Allen which are sequels to the Star Wars storyline, set about 14 years after Episode 6. I was highly amused to find them, because about 7 years ago, I had read the first two and I loved them, but never could find the third, concluding novel. So, I took all three books and read them, so that I could refresh my memory of the first two novels before reading the third.
I was infinitely more amused to discover that I now find these books fairly childish. They were good, make no mistake, but clearly meant for kids in their early or mid teens. Amusement gave way to no small degree of discomfiture on realizing that this means that I've grown up. More than the fact that I'm living with roommates a million miles away from family, more than the fact that I have a Bachelor's and a Master's degree and am working through a Doctorate, more than the fact that I've celebrated four birthdays after my eighteenth, this realization struck much farther, much deeper.
I am now a responsible adult. It's so eminently laughable that all my cousins and old friends will be rolling on the ground and clutching their stomachs in laughter if they heard me make that statement as a flat out, matter of fact statement.
Of all things to bring the realization home, it had to be a novel. Perhaps I am as incorrigible as people say.
In what other ways have I changed from the 15 year old kid who read the Star Wars novel and thought, "Whoa! This is cool!"? Perhaps I am a lot less naive. Perhaps I've gotten over my shyness and unwillingness to talk to unfamiliar people. Perhaps I now consider academic performance as a smaller priority in comparison other areas of self-improvement. Perhaps I've found some new hobbies. Perhaps I now carry the subtle influences of my friends over the years, that have changed my outlook towards life in more ways than one. Perhaps I now know more truly the meaning of love, of compassion, of fear, of anguish. Perhaps I have gained confidence in some ways, and lost confidence, in other ways.
But at the core, am I not the same? Am I still not naive by the world's standards? Am I still not the kid who delights in poems and fantastic stories, in creative weavings of words and tales? Do I still not hold the same principles and scruples that guide my life, the simple guidelines of "Be nice. Be good. After all, that is how you would like others to be."?
I asked myself these questions once before, when I came out of a difficult time in a relationship. For in my pride, I believed that one place where the old me could never go wrong was in friendship. Hence I kept trying to figure out how I'd changed, that I could bring pain to a dear friend.
But now I know the answer to that question. I have changed on the surface, but I am still me. The one thing I do not have is an identity crisis. I know who and what I am. Things go wrong, and it may or may not be my fault, but in intent, I cannot go wrong. I learnt to forgive others long ago, for the most despicable of actions, for the most grievous of sins, for I believe in giving another chance for any person to become better. What I've learnt now is that I should learn to forgive myself, for I have trust in myself. The key to improving things is not a guilty conscience but a free one.
I think I can finally lay old demons to rest and walk with a lighter step.
Cheers,
Prashanth.
I was infinitely more amused to discover that I now find these books fairly childish. They were good, make no mistake, but clearly meant for kids in their early or mid teens. Amusement gave way to no small degree of discomfiture on realizing that this means that I've grown up. More than the fact that I'm living with roommates a million miles away from family, more than the fact that I have a Bachelor's and a Master's degree and am working through a Doctorate, more than the fact that I've celebrated four birthdays after my eighteenth, this realization struck much farther, much deeper.
I am now a responsible adult. It's so eminently laughable that all my cousins and old friends will be rolling on the ground and clutching their stomachs in laughter if they heard me make that statement as a flat out, matter of fact statement.
Of all things to bring the realization home, it had to be a novel. Perhaps I am as incorrigible as people say.
In what other ways have I changed from the 15 year old kid who read the Star Wars novel and thought, "Whoa! This is cool!"? Perhaps I am a lot less naive. Perhaps I've gotten over my shyness and unwillingness to talk to unfamiliar people. Perhaps I now consider academic performance as a smaller priority in comparison other areas of self-improvement. Perhaps I've found some new hobbies. Perhaps I now carry the subtle influences of my friends over the years, that have changed my outlook towards life in more ways than one. Perhaps I now know more truly the meaning of love, of compassion, of fear, of anguish. Perhaps I have gained confidence in some ways, and lost confidence, in other ways.
But at the core, am I not the same? Am I still not naive by the world's standards? Am I still not the kid who delights in poems and fantastic stories, in creative weavings of words and tales? Do I still not hold the same principles and scruples that guide my life, the simple guidelines of "Be nice. Be good. After all, that is how you would like others to be."?
I asked myself these questions once before, when I came out of a difficult time in a relationship. For in my pride, I believed that one place where the old me could never go wrong was in friendship. Hence I kept trying to figure out how I'd changed, that I could bring pain to a dear friend.
But now I know the answer to that question. I have changed on the surface, but I am still me. The one thing I do not have is an identity crisis. I know who and what I am. Things go wrong, and it may or may not be my fault, but in intent, I cannot go wrong. I learnt to forgive others long ago, for the most despicable of actions, for the most grievous of sins, for I believe in giving another chance for any person to become better. What I've learnt now is that I should learn to forgive myself, for I have trust in myself. The key to improving things is not a guilty conscience but a free one.
I think I can finally lay old demons to rest and walk with a lighter step.
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Friday, October 07, 2005
Four Seasons
What colours would you find on a tree? Why, green leaves and brown bark, of course. And a lawn? Green grass and brown earth, of course.
So much for all the things that were "of course" back in India. As autumn takes hold here, slowly but surely, the world transforms around me. The ground and the trees form a delightful, motley tapestry of gold, orange, red, yellow, green and brown. So this is what they mean by autumn! The wonders of a temperate climate! Art seems no longer the realm of Man, but of God.
Think further, for when winter bites with icy grip, the same trees will be covered with shiny white snow; and when spring arrives, the barren trees will magically be re-endowed with green leaves. We know all this; yet the fact that I learnt it in 4th grade geography does not lessen the child-like wonder it instills in me.
I'm reminded, immediately, of Vivaldi's Four Seasons, a powerful violin-based musical composition that captures the emotions, the soul of the changing seasons. Playful spring, angry summer; wistful autumn, sorrowful winter. I do not know if those were indeed the emotions he intended to portray, yet I would swear that those are emotions the music invokes in me. Not just the music; from what I've seen of nature here in summer and autumn, it seems to be an accurate portrayal of Mother Nature's feelings, which, in turn, percolate down to me as I pull up a chair to watch the skies and the trees.
Wistful, of splendour lost; sorrowful, in the wake of the loss; playful, with the return of strength and hope; angry, with the pride and vanity of regained strength.
Sounds too similar to the life of humans, for my comfort.
Cheers,
Prashanth.
So much for all the things that were "of course" back in India. As autumn takes hold here, slowly but surely, the world transforms around me. The ground and the trees form a delightful, motley tapestry of gold, orange, red, yellow, green and brown. So this is what they mean by autumn! The wonders of a temperate climate! Art seems no longer the realm of Man, but of God.
Think further, for when winter bites with icy grip, the same trees will be covered with shiny white snow; and when spring arrives, the barren trees will magically be re-endowed with green leaves. We know all this; yet the fact that I learnt it in 4th grade geography does not lessen the child-like wonder it instills in me.
I'm reminded, immediately, of Vivaldi's Four Seasons, a powerful violin-based musical composition that captures the emotions, the soul of the changing seasons. Playful spring, angry summer; wistful autumn, sorrowful winter. I do not know if those were indeed the emotions he intended to portray, yet I would swear that those are emotions the music invokes in me. Not just the music; from what I've seen of nature here in summer and autumn, it seems to be an accurate portrayal of Mother Nature's feelings, which, in turn, percolate down to me as I pull up a chair to watch the skies and the trees.
Wistful, of splendour lost; sorrowful, in the wake of the loss; playful, with the return of strength and hope; angry, with the pride and vanity of regained strength.
Sounds too similar to the life of humans, for my comfort.
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Saturday, October 01, 2005
Invisible lines
I wondered why it takes so long to make new friends; good friends. I also wondered why it is that very few people find that special place in your heart; there are friends, and then there the people who you will consider as close friends your whole life.
I think it is because we all have a tendency to draw invisible lines between ourselves and other people; the thickness of the line being dependent upon our impression of the person involved! Since this works both ways, you make a close friend only when both of you hold no barriers against each other.
Initially, in a new place, you are bound to be guarded; then, you start thinking, "I like this person a lot; that person is okay; that other person I don't like." It's not merely a matter of who is the nicer person; it's a matter of who you like better, based on things perhaps as tenuous as someone's manner of speaking and body language. Over a period of time, you thaw towards some people; and if vice versa happens as well, a lasting friendship is born! If it happens to a smaller extent, you make a friend, but there will always be some distance, some invisible barrier that cannot be breached that keeps the friendship at a lower level of intimacy.
Here, halfway across the globe from India, I derive a weird sense of satisfaction from the fact that my two best friends are missing me as much as I am missing them. One guy, who, like me, is incapable of articulating his innermost feelings, even though I can read him like a book, said, "... that letter you wrote to my parents, especially that line about you missing me, was touchy. What can I say? There is nobody here to understand why Lady Galadriel is so hi-funda, or why Baldur's Gate 2 is the world's best computer game..." Translation: "That was a really touching letter. I miss you too; not a soul here speaks our language of fantasy and strategy, and can understand things we always took for granted between us."
The other "best" friend, a girl, makes international calls to me every alternate day at her company's expense, and refuses to put down the phone for at least 20 minutes even when I admonish her for misusing company resources. This, in spite of the fact that I call her up myself once a week.
Let me raise a toast, then, to lasting friendships. May we all find more such people to enrich our lives.
Cheers,
Prashanth.
I think it is because we all have a tendency to draw invisible lines between ourselves and other people; the thickness of the line being dependent upon our impression of the person involved! Since this works both ways, you make a close friend only when both of you hold no barriers against each other.
Initially, in a new place, you are bound to be guarded; then, you start thinking, "I like this person a lot; that person is okay; that other person I don't like." It's not merely a matter of who is the nicer person; it's a matter of who you like better, based on things perhaps as tenuous as someone's manner of speaking and body language. Over a period of time, you thaw towards some people; and if vice versa happens as well, a lasting friendship is born! If it happens to a smaller extent, you make a friend, but there will always be some distance, some invisible barrier that cannot be breached that keeps the friendship at a lower level of intimacy.
Here, halfway across the globe from India, I derive a weird sense of satisfaction from the fact that my two best friends are missing me as much as I am missing them. One guy, who, like me, is incapable of articulating his innermost feelings, even though I can read him like a book, said, "... that letter you wrote to my parents, especially that line about you missing me, was touchy. What can I say? There is nobody here to understand why Lady Galadriel is so hi-funda, or why Baldur's Gate 2 is the world's best computer game..." Translation: "That was a really touching letter. I miss you too; not a soul here speaks our language of fantasy and strategy, and can understand things we always took for granted between us."
The other "best" friend, a girl, makes international calls to me every alternate day at her company's expense, and refuses to put down the phone for at least 20 minutes even when I admonish her for misusing company resources. This, in spite of the fact that I call her up myself once a week.
Let me raise a toast, then, to lasting friendships. May we all find more such people to enrich our lives.
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
Inflection
I was speaking to a Prof in the Mechanical Engineering department, and he asked me which courses I was taking.
"Hmm... Expert Systems... Supply Chain Engineering..."
"Supleichen Engineering?"
"Supply. Chain. Engineering."
"Oh! SupPLEIGH Chain Engineering! I've noticed that you Indians tend to speak with a flat tone... I have a student under me who does that a lot and people tend to go to sleep during his presentations... often even I can't understand him and I have to ask him to repeat himself. You really must learn to speak with more inflection and enunciation."
I hope he was looking at the road and driving rather than at me, because I had my mouth open for a whole 3.14 seconds. Now, I happen to be a better English speaker than most people back home, and in fact my Telugu and Tamil are both quite terrible and I speak in English most of the time. So it was quite deflating to hear that my spoken English was not upto the mark.
It's not merely a question of accent... I guess Americans would say I have a trace of the "Indian" accent, but it is more a question of inflection (er... accent includes inflection, yes, that's not all there is to it so I am justified in emphasizing on the inflection bit). I have to retrain myself to speak in the manner that not too long ago I teased others for speaking with "an exaggerated show-offy American accent". My new frame of reality shifts the definitions and what was exaggerated is now normal and what was normal is now "flat".
No wonder that people who stay in the US for longer than a year come back with a completely different inflection with respect to English, but zero change with respect to other languages. It doesn't "grow" on them but is, rather, forced on them. I think the standard Hindi movie US-returned Bridegroom's accent is not as contrived as I used to believe... though I still believe that the "degraded virtues" associated with such a stereotype is quite exaggerated!
But that is a topic I am inclined to avoid... so...
Cheers,
Prashanth.
"Hmm... Expert Systems... Supply Chain Engineering..."
"Supleichen Engineering?"
"Supply. Chain. Engineering."
"Oh! SupPLEIGH Chain Engineering! I've noticed that you Indians tend to speak with a flat tone... I have a student under me who does that a lot and people tend to go to sleep during his presentations... often even I can't understand him and I have to ask him to repeat himself. You really must learn to speak with more inflection and enunciation."
I hope he was looking at the road and driving rather than at me, because I had my mouth open for a whole 3.14 seconds. Now, I happen to be a better English speaker than most people back home, and in fact my Telugu and Tamil are both quite terrible and I speak in English most of the time. So it was quite deflating to hear that my spoken English was not upto the mark.
It's not merely a question of accent... I guess Americans would say I have a trace of the "Indian" accent, but it is more a question of inflection (er... accent includes inflection, yes, that's not all there is to it so I am justified in emphasizing on the inflection bit). I have to retrain myself to speak in the manner that not too long ago I teased others for speaking with "an exaggerated show-offy American accent". My new frame of reality shifts the definitions and what was exaggerated is now normal and what was normal is now "flat".
No wonder that people who stay in the US for longer than a year come back with a completely different inflection with respect to English, but zero change with respect to other languages. It doesn't "grow" on them but is, rather, forced on them. I think the standard Hindi movie US-returned Bridegroom's accent is not as contrived as I used to believe... though I still believe that the "degraded virtues" associated with such a stereotype is quite exaggerated!
But that is a topic I am inclined to avoid... so...
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Friday, September 23, 2005
Half Century!
Blogger informs me that this is my Fiftieth post! So I can raise my bat... and perhaps think about retiring...
Gotcha! No, I'm not going to throw away my third biggest pastime until I find something better to do. One and two are Reading and Playing Bridge respectively, by the way.
At this time, I want to thank Jorge Cham for creating PHD Comics: Piled Higher and Deeper, which has been a source of infinite amusement for me and is a sure cure for Grad Depression. I think it's a sad state of affairs that there are so few things in the world that I find truly funny... is that a sign of growing cynicism? But at least... my inordinate and permanent geekiness ordains that there is one class of jokes that I will always find funny!
It's nice to know that I'm not the only person in the world confronted with some fundamental questions about my choice of lifestyle...
... not to mention, I have a crush on Cecilia...
Cheers,
Prashanth
Gotcha! No, I'm not going to throw away my third biggest pastime until I find something better to do. One and two are Reading and Playing Bridge respectively, by the way.
At this time, I want to thank Jorge Cham for creating PHD Comics: Piled Higher and Deeper, which has been a source of infinite amusement for me and is a sure cure for Grad Depression. I think it's a sad state of affairs that there are so few things in the world that I find truly funny... is that a sign of growing cynicism? But at least... my inordinate and permanent geekiness ordains that there is one class of jokes that I will always find funny!
It's nice to know that I'm not the only person in the world confronted with some fundamental questions about my choice of lifestyle...
... not to mention, I have a crush on Cecilia...
Cheers,
Prashanth
Monday, September 19, 2005
War is declared!
Whenever we do something different, it feels like a struggle... and to come out on top, we practically need to declare war and throw all our resources at it. Usually it is in our work or studies; but even in mundane matters, it is no less difficult or dangerous!
When I got a stain on my favourite shirt, it refused to go away even after washing. So I did the unthinkable - I sought a solution through *shudder* shopping. I browsed the shelves and bought a stain "eraser" and washed it again - now it is almost gone.
In a land where every floor is carpeted, an unseen enemy lurks everywhere. Lint. Never did I know before coming here that taking care of one's clothes could be so difficult. All my clothes have strands of lint sticking onto them that will not go away just by washing. In fact, washing makes them harder to remove. So, I had to do battle again. I donned the mantle of the Super Duper Master Shopper and bought a hi-tech electrostatic lint remover at the Magic Housekeeper Mart. Well... actually I can't afford such stuff so I bought one of those dime-a-dozen adhesive based lint rollers off a Weiss Mart shelf. Super Duper? More like Super Pauper. But I shouldn't call myself a Master Shopper, because I keep reminding people here that I got my Masters even before coming here for Ph.D. So I'm a Master-Almost-Doctor Shopper. Splendid.
Cooking is another war by itself, the toughest part being remembering Mom's instructions on nutrition. So when I make fried rice or noodles, I add egg and lots of vegetables. I drink milk and fruit juices everyday and even eat apples on occasion. My Mom's an expert nutritionist, so I guess some of her concern and a bit of her knowledge has rubbed off on me.
So, here I am.
Super Pauper, Master-Almost-Doctor Shopper, Expert Nutritionist.
In short,
SP, MAD Shopper, Ex Nut.
Cheers,
Prashanth.
P.S. Lots of work this week so will not be present on blogworld much till next weekend.
When I got a stain on my favourite shirt, it refused to go away even after washing. So I did the unthinkable - I sought a solution through *shudder* shopping. I browsed the shelves and bought a stain "eraser" and washed it again - now it is almost gone.
In a land where every floor is carpeted, an unseen enemy lurks everywhere. Lint. Never did I know before coming here that taking care of one's clothes could be so difficult. All my clothes have strands of lint sticking onto them that will not go away just by washing. In fact, washing makes them harder to remove. So, I had to do battle again. I donned the mantle of the Super Duper Master Shopper and bought a hi-tech electrostatic lint remover at the Magic Housekeeper Mart. Well... actually I can't afford such stuff so I bought one of those dime-a-dozen adhesive based lint rollers off a Weiss Mart shelf. Super Duper? More like Super Pauper. But I shouldn't call myself a Master Shopper, because I keep reminding people here that I got my Masters even before coming here for Ph.D. So I'm a Master-Almost-Doctor Shopper. Splendid.
Cooking is another war by itself, the toughest part being remembering Mom's instructions on nutrition. So when I make fried rice or noodles, I add egg and lots of vegetables. I drink milk and fruit juices everyday and even eat apples on occasion. My Mom's an expert nutritionist, so I guess some of her concern and a bit of her knowledge has rubbed off on me.
So, here I am.
Super Pauper, Master-Almost-Doctor Shopper, Expert Nutritionist.
In short,
SP, MAD Shopper, Ex Nut.
Cheers,
Prashanth.
P.S. Lots of work this week so will not be present on blogworld much till next weekend.
Friday, September 16, 2005
Symphony
One of my favourite "figments of imagination": things described in fantasy novels, is a people called the Aiel, in the Wheel of Time novels written by Robert Jordan. They are a peace-loving people keeping to a strict policy of non-violence; until circumstances force some of them to pick up spears in self-defence. Then they sunder into two groups: those who fight when they must, and those who keep to their true faith, the "Way of the Leaf". The latter group roam around the world repairing things for people in exchange for things they need; and looking for a song.
Looking for a song? What kind of song? What is about? They shake their heads and say they don't know, but they will know the song when they hear it.
How quaintly insane! Yet, in my eyes, no more insane than any of us who have a strong, if inexplicable, faith in something.
But of course, I'm not here to praise Jordan's creativity. The truth is that I, too, am looking for a song, but one that I know I am to find only within myself.
I speak of my desire to write a song rather than a poem; for what could be better than a union of melodious music and symphonic words? Yet I think I am incapable of composing music. Hence I am incapable of composing a song.
People have their talents and their limitations. Music and poetry are subjective; but I can at least make the words flow in harmony, in a way that I, myself, can appreciate, if not others. I have never been able to make music flow.
I know that people know that I have a poetry blog, but I also know that few have read all of my poems; mainly because my poems are recorded in a random order, and most of them are quite boring to the average reader. But I would like at least some of you to read the ones I think turned out well, so I am providing below links to a few of my favourites. It is unlike me to talk about my own work, leave alone ask others to read it; but consider this an earnest desire to share with my friends some things that I personally hold precious. I rarely re-read anything I write on this blog, but I do re-read my poems often.
One Moment in Time
Mirror of the Self
A Hint of a Tear
Every Single Day
Promises
Drown me with Words
Altruistic
Into your Eyes
What Matters?
Starry Starry Night
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Looking for a song? What kind of song? What is about? They shake their heads and say they don't know, but they will know the song when they hear it.
How quaintly insane! Yet, in my eyes, no more insane than any of us who have a strong, if inexplicable, faith in something.
But of course, I'm not here to praise Jordan's creativity. The truth is that I, too, am looking for a song, but one that I know I am to find only within myself.
I speak of my desire to write a song rather than a poem; for what could be better than a union of melodious music and symphonic words? Yet I think I am incapable of composing music. Hence I am incapable of composing a song.
People have their talents and their limitations. Music and poetry are subjective; but I can at least make the words flow in harmony, in a way that I, myself, can appreciate, if not others. I have never been able to make music flow.
I know that people know that I have a poetry blog, but I also know that few have read all of my poems; mainly because my poems are recorded in a random order, and most of them are quite boring to the average reader. But I would like at least some of you to read the ones I think turned out well, so I am providing below links to a few of my favourites. It is unlike me to talk about my own work, leave alone ask others to read it; but consider this an earnest desire to share with my friends some things that I personally hold precious. I rarely re-read anything I write on this blog, but I do re-read my poems often.
One Moment in Time
Mirror of the Self
A Hint of a Tear
Every Single Day
Promises
Drown me with Words
Altruistic
Into your Eyes
What Matters?
Starry Starry Night
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
The Prince and the Pauper
Back in IIT, my friends used to call me "The Prince of Chennai", mocking my pampered nature. My standard of living "rough" is very different from that of my friends; I've never done any hard physical work to speak of; I can count on the fingers of my hands the number of times I've used the city bus service; and I've always had two servants and a cook at home to do any mundane work.
I've also never had to worry about money. Don't take me wrong, I'm not from a rich family, and my Dad is pretty tightfisted when it comes to spending. But we're reasonably well off and I rarely have the occasion to spend money anyway, being content with my strange mix of home and hostel life and going out only once a week on an average. So on the occasions that I do go out, I don't mind going to restaurants where we spend two hundred rupees or more per person; on the occasions that I do buy something for myself, such as clothes, my tastes are such that some people may construe as expensive.
I also don't believe in worrying about sums of money smaller than 10 rupees, unless I feel I am doing something ethically wrong. This has resulted in some funny situations in the past. For example, I would be travelling with my friends by auto-rickshaw, and one of my pals would argue with the driver for five minutes just to bring down the price by five rupees. We would reach the destination, and then the chap would plead that it was slightly farther than we'd led him to believe, and that we ought to give him that extra five rupees. My friend would say firmly that a deal is a deal, but I would say "Sure," and hand him the extra five rupees.
My friends would then have long arguments on what would be the best way to torture and kill me, though I would just say that the five rupees was well spent; after all, we made one guy in the world happier. There is nothing wrong in it as he's earning his living, rather than begging or stealing. In fact, we could have saved five minutes of our valuable time and a lot of effort by not wrangling for that small sum in the first place.
One day I had a serious conversation with one of my friends from Raipur on the subject of money, and tried to understand why five rupees is so important when I spend a thousand rupees on a pair of jeans and two hundred rupees on dinner when I go out. He explained that he was used to spending not more than one hundred and fifty for a dinner for four, and perhaps two hundred for a pair of jeans. He thought Chennai city is attrociously expensive, and every rupee saved is valuable. Of course, there is also the matter that he is from a middle class family; I would classify myself as upper middle class I guess.
I guess money has never really been an issue for me. My wants are few; so when I do want something, I buy it regardless of price, as to me it would be worth it.
And then, of course, I left India and came to the US.
What a huge difference! Money earned in rupees is not meant to be spent in dollars. The conversions make my head giddy. I have long since stopped converting. I now measure distance in miles, weight in pounds, and money in dollars. But I know that I am being unfair to my parents if I continue to spend their hard earned money the same way that I used to back home, because the scale is now much higher. It is tantamount to waste, which is something I detest.
So I eat at fast food joints instead of restaurants, if I am forced to eat out. I look at prices when I shop, which is not something I normally do, and choose things that give me the best value for my money. I spend only on necessities and not on anything for my pleasure.
And, of course, I am no longer a Prince whose every need is taken care of. I now take care of myself. If you knew me from when I was young you would know truly what a huge step that is for me.
I feel like a Pauper in more than one sense of the word. Money. Care. Affection. The friends and family I love are not here. That one fact alone makes me feel poorer than everything else put together.
Consider this excerpt from the serial Friends a desperate attempt to lift my mood:
Ross: Well... I just never really thought of money as an issue..
Rachel: That's because you have it.
Cheers,
Prashanth.
I've also never had to worry about money. Don't take me wrong, I'm not from a rich family, and my Dad is pretty tightfisted when it comes to spending. But we're reasonably well off and I rarely have the occasion to spend money anyway, being content with my strange mix of home and hostel life and going out only once a week on an average. So on the occasions that I do go out, I don't mind going to restaurants where we spend two hundred rupees or more per person; on the occasions that I do buy something for myself, such as clothes, my tastes are such that some people may construe as expensive.
I also don't believe in worrying about sums of money smaller than 10 rupees, unless I feel I am doing something ethically wrong. This has resulted in some funny situations in the past. For example, I would be travelling with my friends by auto-rickshaw, and one of my pals would argue with the driver for five minutes just to bring down the price by five rupees. We would reach the destination, and then the chap would plead that it was slightly farther than we'd led him to believe, and that we ought to give him that extra five rupees. My friend would say firmly that a deal is a deal, but I would say "Sure," and hand him the extra five rupees.
My friends would then have long arguments on what would be the best way to torture and kill me, though I would just say that the five rupees was well spent; after all, we made one guy in the world happier. There is nothing wrong in it as he's earning his living, rather than begging or stealing. In fact, we could have saved five minutes of our valuable time and a lot of effort by not wrangling for that small sum in the first place.
One day I had a serious conversation with one of my friends from Raipur on the subject of money, and tried to understand why five rupees is so important when I spend a thousand rupees on a pair of jeans and two hundred rupees on dinner when I go out. He explained that he was used to spending not more than one hundred and fifty for a dinner for four, and perhaps two hundred for a pair of jeans. He thought Chennai city is attrociously expensive, and every rupee saved is valuable. Of course, there is also the matter that he is from a middle class family; I would classify myself as upper middle class I guess.
I guess money has never really been an issue for me. My wants are few; so when I do want something, I buy it regardless of price, as to me it would be worth it.
And then, of course, I left India and came to the US.
What a huge difference! Money earned in rupees is not meant to be spent in dollars. The conversions make my head giddy. I have long since stopped converting. I now measure distance in miles, weight in pounds, and money in dollars. But I know that I am being unfair to my parents if I continue to spend their hard earned money the same way that I used to back home, because the scale is now much higher. It is tantamount to waste, which is something I detest.
So I eat at fast food joints instead of restaurants, if I am forced to eat out. I look at prices when I shop, which is not something I normally do, and choose things that give me the best value for my money. I spend only on necessities and not on anything for my pleasure.
And, of course, I am no longer a Prince whose every need is taken care of. I now take care of myself. If you knew me from when I was young you would know truly what a huge step that is for me.
I feel like a Pauper in more than one sense of the word. Money. Care. Affection. The friends and family I love are not here. That one fact alone makes me feel poorer than everything else put together.
Consider this excerpt from the serial Friends a desperate attempt to lift my mood:
Ross: Well... I just never really thought of money as an issue..
Rachel: That's because you have it.
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Saturday, September 10, 2005
A Small Tribute
I met a kindly chap at the State College Bridge Club who offered to pick me up and drop me back once a week for the game. Curious about my new friend, who has a keen mind and is no doubt an excellent bridge player, I asked him a few questions about himself. Apparently, he worked in the area of Scanning Electron Microscopy, but has been retired for nearly 15 years. His wife died about 4 years ago. As he said those words, the profound sadness in his voice - and his eyes - were tangible to me.
The building where the tournaments take place 4 times a week is strangely named "SEM ECON. BRIDGE STUDIO". I asked him what that meant... he laughed, a pleasant, warm laugh, and with a far away look explained that his wife always bantered about his work being "cheap", and a politically correct way of saying "cheap" is "economical"; hence, S.E.M. Econ. !!
The main hall is quaint, with the restrooms labelled with the cards, the Queen of Hearts and the King of Clubs respectively; a very nice library of bridge books; an ancient PC with a dot matrix printer in one corner for tracking the scores; tables, chairs and bidding boxes; and scoresheets and paintings vying for space on the walls. I walked around admiring the 20-odd paintings on the wall, undoubtedly created by the same artist; the style was unmistakable.
And I came to know that week that the paintings were made by none other than my friend's wife, who, on her death bed, expressed her wish that the world should see them. They arranged an exhibition, the venue being none other than the aforementioned bridge studio, where they had spent many a happy moment with good friends over the years. One month later, she died.
They never did take down the paintings.
The whole building, managed by my friend, seems to me like a shrine to a wife he loved very much. I've known this man for just two weeks, but I find myself deeply moved.
"Do you live alone now?" I asked.
"Yes."
"Must be boring," I quipped, a rather weak attempt at humour.
"Well... it's different... I've been married to one person all my life... but now..." he shrugged, and let the words hang. "I don't do much other than play bridge these days," he concluded after a pause.
For a moment I wanted to scream in rage at the injustice of it all. But I thought about it long and hard, and I think it was better for his wife to go the way she did, with the man she loved by her side, taking care of her while she was sick. I know she must have died with a smile on her lips, and her soul at peace. Better that than the lonely, grim, empty existence that my friend was living out.
Most of us, at this age, have not known true grief at the magnitude that death alone can bring. Of all of life's injustices, the biggest one is the simple fact that death is inevitable. Let us offer a prayer, then, for the departed. Every one of them. As a mark of respect, I am disabling comments on this post, and I request my readers to not comment on this topic anywhere else on this blog. And I sincerely hope that there is no need for me to bring up the topic of death ever again on my blog.
Cheers,
Prashanth.
The building where the tournaments take place 4 times a week is strangely named "SEM ECON. BRIDGE STUDIO". I asked him what that meant... he laughed, a pleasant, warm laugh, and with a far away look explained that his wife always bantered about his work being "cheap", and a politically correct way of saying "cheap" is "economical"; hence, S.E.M. Econ. !!
The main hall is quaint, with the restrooms labelled with the cards, the Queen of Hearts and the King of Clubs respectively; a very nice library of bridge books; an ancient PC with a dot matrix printer in one corner for tracking the scores; tables, chairs and bidding boxes; and scoresheets and paintings vying for space on the walls. I walked around admiring the 20-odd paintings on the wall, undoubtedly created by the same artist; the style was unmistakable.
And I came to know that week that the paintings were made by none other than my friend's wife, who, on her death bed, expressed her wish that the world should see them. They arranged an exhibition, the venue being none other than the aforementioned bridge studio, where they had spent many a happy moment with good friends over the years. One month later, she died.
They never did take down the paintings.
The whole building, managed by my friend, seems to me like a shrine to a wife he loved very much. I've known this man for just two weeks, but I find myself deeply moved.
"Do you live alone now?" I asked.
"Yes."
"Must be boring," I quipped, a rather weak attempt at humour.
"Well... it's different... I've been married to one person all my life... but now..." he shrugged, and let the words hang. "I don't do much other than play bridge these days," he concluded after a pause.
For a moment I wanted to scream in rage at the injustice of it all. But I thought about it long and hard, and I think it was better for his wife to go the way she did, with the man she loved by her side, taking care of her while she was sick. I know she must have died with a smile on her lips, and her soul at peace. Better that than the lonely, grim, empty existence that my friend was living out.
Most of us, at this age, have not known true grief at the magnitude that death alone can bring. Of all of life's injustices, the biggest one is the simple fact that death is inevitable. Let us offer a prayer, then, for the departed. Every one of them. As a mark of respect, I am disabling comments on this post, and I request my readers to not comment on this topic anywhere else on this blog. And I sincerely hope that there is no need for me to bring up the topic of death ever again on my blog.
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
Fan, not fanatic
Most of the world doesn't understand how I can devour so many Science Fiction and Fantasy novels so fast - and movies as well. If one of my friends read a book or saw a movie belonging to one of those genres, and he (girls are usually not interested in scifi or fantasy) didn't like it, he would surely turn toward me and say, "But I'll bet you loved it."
How is a guy supposed to respond when judgement has been passed on him without hearing him speak or seeing him act? I find myself amused by the injustice of it. Just because I read every fantasy novel I can lay my hands on, it doesn't mean I love every one of them. In fact, I consider myself a bit of a connoisseur, in that having read so many, I have a keenly refined taste of which ones are really good and which ones are nice, but not great, and which ones are plain horrid.
If I find any listeners, I try to explain how vast these genres are, and how different the styles, objectives and paths of the authors are. But people have a tendency to stereotype genres, and to many people, all science fiction is nonsense. I think of ranting and raving at them, but then I bite my tongue. After all, how many times have I not tried out a particular movie, book, song, anything just because I don't like that particular genre? It's no crime. Or maybe it is all criminal, and I am guilty as well. The notion is very unsettling. If everyone around you goes and jumps off a cliff, you should still ask why, I said in my last post.
The last few good Sci-Fi movies I've seen are War of the Worlds; I, Robot; and Minority Report. The last few good Sci-Fi books I've read are Contact; The Dispossessed; and Timeline. I've written a review of Contact, find the link here.
I've been reading 4 fantasy novels a week for the past 3 weeks, and I've stocked up on 4 more for this week, so I don't want to comment on the fantasy genre now for I don't have the time to do justice to it. But surely, the Public Libraries here are a treasure trove. I could never find the books I wanted, back in India. Here, even if the library doesn't have a copy, they will buy it or get an inter-library loan for my sake, free of cost. Talk about paradise!
Cheers,
Prashanth,
How is a guy supposed to respond when judgement has been passed on him without hearing him speak or seeing him act? I find myself amused by the injustice of it. Just because I read every fantasy novel I can lay my hands on, it doesn't mean I love every one of them. In fact, I consider myself a bit of a connoisseur, in that having read so many, I have a keenly refined taste of which ones are really good and which ones are nice, but not great, and which ones are plain horrid.
If I find any listeners, I try to explain how vast these genres are, and how different the styles, objectives and paths of the authors are. But people have a tendency to stereotype genres, and to many people, all science fiction is nonsense. I think of ranting and raving at them, but then I bite my tongue. After all, how many times have I not tried out a particular movie, book, song, anything just because I don't like that particular genre? It's no crime. Or maybe it is all criminal, and I am guilty as well. The notion is very unsettling. If everyone around you goes and jumps off a cliff, you should still ask why, I said in my last post.
The last few good Sci-Fi movies I've seen are War of the Worlds; I, Robot; and Minority Report. The last few good Sci-Fi books I've read are Contact; The Dispossessed; and Timeline. I've written a review of Contact, find the link here.
I've been reading 4 fantasy novels a week for the past 3 weeks, and I've stocked up on 4 more for this week, so I don't want to comment on the fantasy genre now for I don't have the time to do justice to it. But surely, the Public Libraries here are a treasure trove. I could never find the books I wanted, back in India. Here, even if the library doesn't have a copy, they will buy it or get an inter-library loan for my sake, free of cost. Talk about paradise!
Cheers,
Prashanth,
Friday, September 02, 2005
Do you believe in Evolution?
Last weekend was a series of coincidences. I was talking to a friend about people who are agnostic or atheist but still go to temples, and we ended up talking about God, Life, the Universe, Evolution, and everything. The same evening, we went to a "discussion" at the Vedic Society meeting on "God Exists? - from a scientific perspective". Truth be told, I only went because I would get an opportunity to meet new people, eat Indian food, and bash a few heads, and not necessarily in that order. But it ended up as a heavily moderated and steered discussion aimed at converting, not just atheists into theists, but into Hindus.
Of course I was inwardly indignant that the objective of those people was rather to proselytize than to hold an intellectual and objective conference, but it was that much harder because of the narrow-mindedness I encountered in some people there. I don't want to go into the details of the evening because it's not worth your time, so I'll cut to the chase.
The slide in question depicted some neolithic hand tools, and how we accept that they were, indeed, tools made by Man rather than natural rock formations happening by chance. And then it showed the biological complexity of a DNA strand, and asked how we can accept that it happened by "chance" - as evolution, by Darwinian description, is the survival of the fittest derived by random mutation and natural selection over thousands of generations. In other words, the Hand of God behind the creation of the blueprints of life is inescapably conspicuous.
I furrowed my brow and pointed out that the complex DNA structure didn't happen overnight but over millions, perhaps billions of years of Evolution. The DNA structure of various organisms were not created by God but rather, can be explained by Evolution; the question, then, is how do you explain Evolution itself?
With that I surprised myself - here I was, questioning the fact that natural selection is the hand behind evolution, after all those biology classes and years of scientific training. I was so stunned at myself that I was speechless for a moment.
And then I was rendered doubly speechless by the moderator, who promptly questioned the occurence of evolution itself, and asked how I knew that Life originated by chance from a primal soup of semi-organic matter and developed by itself over millions of years into something as complicated as Man. Did I know how many holes in the theory have been conveniently swept under the rug by scientists? How do I know for sure that God did not create humans, but they were rather evolved from apes?
Don't get me wrong, I was not silent from the force of his argument but rather by its stupidity. How could there possibly be a guy who did not believe in Evolution? What kind of a moron thinks that God put in Man on the planet as-is, rather than evolve from apes? The paleontological evidence for Evolution is overwhelming, and the evolution of many species can be traced quite far back!
While I bemoaned the fact that religion can blind us to obvious conclusions of science, I was soon hit by yet another coincidence. I was reading Contact by Carl Sagan, and in the book, Ellie has several conversations with priests who believe that the transmission from outer space was from God (or the Devil!) rather than an alien civilization. And yet again, they end up discussing the origin of Life and the Universe and all that. And - get this - the priests believe 100% in the Bible and that God created Adam and Eve from scratch. And apparently so do 75% of USA's population.
Then it struck me. It's true. Most of the Christians believe that God created Man directly. Which means they do not believe in Evolution. The same goes for several other religions, though I'm quite sure that Hinduism makes no such claims - even though a significant percentage of Hindus are of the same belief.
That single fact alone reinforces my belief that people, in general, are idiots. And that of all solutions for making the world a better place, education is the best. Only then, if every one around you goes and jumps off a cliff, you will stop to ask, "Why should I also do it?"
I will postpone judgement on our good pal Darwin because I am unqualified to draw conclusions on the question of whether chance mutation and natural selection together constitute the driving force behind evolution, or whether there is some deeper issue to unravel. I'm confident that hundreds of years of research by qualified scientists is more likely to be correct than some sudden gnaw of doubt in my mind brought out by the religious maniacs, but I can't help but feel that in some measure, they've achieved thier objective even on one as well-informed and scientific-tempered as I.
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Of course I was inwardly indignant that the objective of those people was rather to proselytize than to hold an intellectual and objective conference, but it was that much harder because of the narrow-mindedness I encountered in some people there. I don't want to go into the details of the evening because it's not worth your time, so I'll cut to the chase.
The slide in question depicted some neolithic hand tools, and how we accept that they were, indeed, tools made by Man rather than natural rock formations happening by chance. And then it showed the biological complexity of a DNA strand, and asked how we can accept that it happened by "chance" - as evolution, by Darwinian description, is the survival of the fittest derived by random mutation and natural selection over thousands of generations. In other words, the Hand of God behind the creation of the blueprints of life is inescapably conspicuous.
I furrowed my brow and pointed out that the complex DNA structure didn't happen overnight but over millions, perhaps billions of years of Evolution. The DNA structure of various organisms were not created by God but rather, can be explained by Evolution; the question, then, is how do you explain Evolution itself?
With that I surprised myself - here I was, questioning the fact that natural selection is the hand behind evolution, after all those biology classes and years of scientific training. I was so stunned at myself that I was speechless for a moment.
And then I was rendered doubly speechless by the moderator, who promptly questioned the occurence of evolution itself, and asked how I knew that Life originated by chance from a primal soup of semi-organic matter and developed by itself over millions of years into something as complicated as Man. Did I know how many holes in the theory have been conveniently swept under the rug by scientists? How do I know for sure that God did not create humans, but they were rather evolved from apes?
Don't get me wrong, I was not silent from the force of his argument but rather by its stupidity. How could there possibly be a guy who did not believe in Evolution? What kind of a moron thinks that God put in Man on the planet as-is, rather than evolve from apes? The paleontological evidence for Evolution is overwhelming, and the evolution of many species can be traced quite far back!
While I bemoaned the fact that religion can blind us to obvious conclusions of science, I was soon hit by yet another coincidence. I was reading Contact by Carl Sagan, and in the book, Ellie has several conversations with priests who believe that the transmission from outer space was from God (or the Devil!) rather than an alien civilization. And yet again, they end up discussing the origin of Life and the Universe and all that. And - get this - the priests believe 100% in the Bible and that God created Adam and Eve from scratch. And apparently so do 75% of USA's population.
Then it struck me. It's true. Most of the Christians believe that God created Man directly. Which means they do not believe in Evolution. The same goes for several other religions, though I'm quite sure that Hinduism makes no such claims - even though a significant percentage of Hindus are of the same belief.
That single fact alone reinforces my belief that people, in general, are idiots. And that of all solutions for making the world a better place, education is the best. Only then, if every one around you goes and jumps off a cliff, you will stop to ask, "Why should I also do it?"
I will postpone judgement on our good pal Darwin because I am unqualified to draw conclusions on the question of whether chance mutation and natural selection together constitute the driving force behind evolution, or whether there is some deeper issue to unravel. I'm confident that hundreds of years of research by qualified scientists is more likely to be correct than some sudden gnaw of doubt in my mind brought out by the religious maniacs, but I can't help but feel that in some measure, they've achieved thier objective even on one as well-informed and scientific-tempered as I.
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Saturday, August 27, 2005
Intoxication for Inspiration?!
Have you ever noticed that your writing grows more impassioned and powerful if you allow your emotions to carry you away... the words seize control of you instead of the other way round, and appear to flow of their own accord, weaving themselves into wonderful verbal tapestries that you could not have created if you had written with a clear mind? On the face of it, your thoughts might have been less coherent, less rational... but when you re-read what you've written, they make perfect sense, and you surprise yourself with your eloquence.
It is said that a calm, composed and rational mind is required for good science, but an intoxicated, untempered mind is what excels at art, music, poetry and other creative pursuits. Order and Disorder. The Left side of the Brain and the Right side of the Brain. Some of the best artists (using the term loosely) in the world have maintained that their more brilliant works were achieved when they were high on drugs or some such thing. From personal experience, I know I will never contradict them. Of course, there are other ways of getting high than drugs or alcohol... I can get "high" on well-written books or poetry, or even a good computer game. Usually I get into these heightened states of mind when I am writing rather than reading, solving rather than framing.
But even as I think these thoughts, an egregious fallacy presents itself. The best scientific breakthroughs have often manifested themselves when the mind is in one of these chaotic highs. I, for one, could never get unstuck from certain points in my research while I was thinking rationally and studiously. The momentary spark of genius that gets you past difficult barriers follows the non-laws of creativity rather than the rational paths of science.
Have I gone wrong somewhere in my assumptions or reasoning? What am I missing here?
Cheers,
Prashanth.
It is said that a calm, composed and rational mind is required for good science, but an intoxicated, untempered mind is what excels at art, music, poetry and other creative pursuits. Order and Disorder. The Left side of the Brain and the Right side of the Brain. Some of the best artists (using the term loosely) in the world have maintained that their more brilliant works were achieved when they were high on drugs or some such thing. From personal experience, I know I will never contradict them. Of course, there are other ways of getting high than drugs or alcohol... I can get "high" on well-written books or poetry, or even a good computer game. Usually I get into these heightened states of mind when I am writing rather than reading, solving rather than framing.
But even as I think these thoughts, an egregious fallacy presents itself. The best scientific breakthroughs have often manifested themselves when the mind is in one of these chaotic highs. I, for one, could never get unstuck from certain points in my research while I was thinking rationally and studiously. The momentary spark of genius that gets you past difficult barriers follows the non-laws of creativity rather than the rational paths of science.
Have I gone wrong somewhere in my assumptions or reasoning? What am I missing here?
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Sunday, August 21, 2005
Operation De-Pamper
Living away from home is not for the faint of heart, lazy of body or perfectionist of mind.
Back home, I had two servants, a cook, and of course my Mom to care of my needs at any point of time. Needless to say, I'm quite a pampered brat. I've never travelled by bus within the city more than a single digit number of times. The extent of the comfort I've been kept in struck me yesterday when I did my own laundry and ironed my own clothes, and realized that I haven't done either in over 10 years, and the only reason I HAVE done it before is because my Mom insisted that I at least know how it's done. Makes me almost wish that my Mom had been a stern taskmaster rather than sweet and understanding. Almost.
There are simply so many things to do, that I wonder how people have time to do their own work. I put this down partially to the fact that I like things to be proper and correct... in other words, I am a bit of a perfectionist. Not as bad as my good friend Rahul, but a little, nonetheless. I can't even begin to tell you how much it irks me that I somehow got a stain on my favourite shirt and am unable to remove it.
The other thing is that I happen to be extremely lazy. Physically lazy, I mean. I'm ever ready to read a book or teach a concept or play a game of bridge or chess. But ask me to walk across the room to switch off a light and I'll raise my eyebrows at you. So, doing everything by myself, right from cooking to washing dishes to doing my laundry to keeping all my things organized, is quite taxing on my hardly-used limbs.
The last reason for my lack of enthusiasm for my current predicament is that I've never been known to be a brave person. I'm not the "Bring it on!" kind of guy, I'm the guy who turns to his friend and says, "I have a problem, could you help me out?". Well, at least I'm not so cowardly as to run away from my problems. I face them and ultimately solve them or get around them... usually!
So, being none of the three things I mentioned in the first line of this post, it follows that I should be having an exceedingly tough time here. But that isn't the case either. I've had the good fortune of living in a hostel for the past five years of my life, even though my life was much easier than that of my other hostel-mates because my home was a 25 minute drive away. But still, it has made the transition much smoother for me. I wonder how other pampered kids who have been unceremoniously dropped in a foreign land manage.
The other reason why it's not so hard is that as far as I'm concerned, if I have to do something, no matter how hard or distasteful, I will not turn my back on it. Necessity and Duty are my taskmasters. I hate eating uncooked or un-ground onions... but if I have to eat it at the risk of offending my host, I will eat it without complaint.
Life changes, but never stops...
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Back home, I had two servants, a cook, and of course my Mom to care of my needs at any point of time. Needless to say, I'm quite a pampered brat. I've never travelled by bus within the city more than a single digit number of times. The extent of the comfort I've been kept in struck me yesterday when I did my own laundry and ironed my own clothes, and realized that I haven't done either in over 10 years, and the only reason I HAVE done it before is because my Mom insisted that I at least know how it's done. Makes me almost wish that my Mom had been a stern taskmaster rather than sweet and understanding. Almost.
There are simply so many things to do, that I wonder how people have time to do their own work. I put this down partially to the fact that I like things to be proper and correct... in other words, I am a bit of a perfectionist. Not as bad as my good friend Rahul, but a little, nonetheless. I can't even begin to tell you how much it irks me that I somehow got a stain on my favourite shirt and am unable to remove it.
The other thing is that I happen to be extremely lazy. Physically lazy, I mean. I'm ever ready to read a book or teach a concept or play a game of bridge or chess. But ask me to walk across the room to switch off a light and I'll raise my eyebrows at you. So, doing everything by myself, right from cooking to washing dishes to doing my laundry to keeping all my things organized, is quite taxing on my hardly-used limbs.
The last reason for my lack of enthusiasm for my current predicament is that I've never been known to be a brave person. I'm not the "Bring it on!" kind of guy, I'm the guy who turns to his friend and says, "I have a problem, could you help me out?". Well, at least I'm not so cowardly as to run away from my problems. I face them and ultimately solve them or get around them... usually!
So, being none of the three things I mentioned in the first line of this post, it follows that I should be having an exceedingly tough time here. But that isn't the case either. I've had the good fortune of living in a hostel for the past five years of my life, even though my life was much easier than that of my other hostel-mates because my home was a 25 minute drive away. But still, it has made the transition much smoother for me. I wonder how other pampered kids who have been unceremoniously dropped in a foreign land manage.
The other reason why it's not so hard is that as far as I'm concerned, if I have to do something, no matter how hard or distasteful, I will not turn my back on it. Necessity and Duty are my taskmasters. I hate eating uncooked or un-ground onions... but if I have to eat it at the risk of offending my host, I will eat it without complaint.
Life changes, but never stops...
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
City Vs Rusticity
"I love New York!"
That was the third time I'd heard that sentence from as many people in this last week. And everytime I hear it, it brings a grimace to my face.
Not that I have anything against New York in particular. It's about big cities in general. Having lived in Chennai for almost the whole of my 22 years of existence, I've come to detest rush hour traffic, pollution, and crowds. I feel a disctinct sense of sadness when I watch thousands of people being in a hurry all the time. I hate the rat-race existence that city life reduces us to.
Agreed, living in a city does come with its perks - be it great movie theaters, bowling alleys, restaurants, karting tracks, libraries, or whatever things you are into for which you normally wouldn't find the facilities in a smaller town. However, these things apply to India, not the US. Here even the little town of State College, PA, where I am right now, has everything I can think of that I want, leave alone need.
And this comes free of the hustle-bustle and crowds associated with a metropolitan city. The very atmosphere is cool and relaxed in every sense of the words. I can open the french windows and sit on the patio, with a warm cup of chocolate in my hand. Green grass. Pleasant breeze. Squirrels hopping. Fireflies winking. Trees swaying. The poet inside me feels a sense of satisfaction.
Time. It makes a huge difference when people have time to drink in life. Strangers greet you and take a moment to say a friendly sentence or two. I haven't heard a horn honk on the road this whole week. There are no queues longer than 5 minutes anywhere.
Nature. Grass, trees and bushes everywhere. Some small animals and insects as well. And I mean in the middle of the downtown area. The encroachment on nature's pristine beauty is minimal. There is not a single road that is actually flat - you will be either walking uphill or downhill at any given point of time.
Everybody grates on how slow I am at doing anything: be it eating, sleeping, bathing or walking. Well I can only say that I feel sorry for those who cannot relax and enjoy their food or their nap or their stroll. What is the point in being in a hurry all day, and then doing something wild in your free time in a vain attempt at relaxation? Work hard, party harder? Rubbish. Be relaxed and enjoy every single activity you do. It's healthier.
Cheers,
Prashanth.
That was the third time I'd heard that sentence from as many people in this last week. And everytime I hear it, it brings a grimace to my face.
Not that I have anything against New York in particular. It's about big cities in general. Having lived in Chennai for almost the whole of my 22 years of existence, I've come to detest rush hour traffic, pollution, and crowds. I feel a disctinct sense of sadness when I watch thousands of people being in a hurry all the time. I hate the rat-race existence that city life reduces us to.
Agreed, living in a city does come with its perks - be it great movie theaters, bowling alleys, restaurants, karting tracks, libraries, or whatever things you are into for which you normally wouldn't find the facilities in a smaller town. However, these things apply to India, not the US. Here even the little town of State College, PA, where I am right now, has everything I can think of that I want, leave alone need.
And this comes free of the hustle-bustle and crowds associated with a metropolitan city. The very atmosphere is cool and relaxed in every sense of the words. I can open the french windows and sit on the patio, with a warm cup of chocolate in my hand. Green grass. Pleasant breeze. Squirrels hopping. Fireflies winking. Trees swaying. The poet inside me feels a sense of satisfaction.
Time. It makes a huge difference when people have time to drink in life. Strangers greet you and take a moment to say a friendly sentence or two. I haven't heard a horn honk on the road this whole week. There are no queues longer than 5 minutes anywhere.
Nature. Grass, trees and bushes everywhere. Some small animals and insects as well. And I mean in the middle of the downtown area. The encroachment on nature's pristine beauty is minimal. There is not a single road that is actually flat - you will be either walking uphill or downhill at any given point of time.
Everybody grates on how slow I am at doing anything: be it eating, sleeping, bathing or walking. Well I can only say that I feel sorry for those who cannot relax and enjoy their food or their nap or their stroll. What is the point in being in a hurry all day, and then doing something wild in your free time in a vain attempt at relaxation? Work hard, party harder? Rubbish. Be relaxed and enjoy every single activity you do. It's healthier.
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Thursday, August 11, 2005
A second chance to make a first impression
There is an innate charm in joining a new school or college. It's more than just the excitement of being in a new place or the opportunity to make new friends. I can best sum it up as getting a second chance at making a first impression.
All of us are in the habit of constantly judging people. It is a very human tendency to observe all these small details about the appearance and behaviour of other people and think about how much he/she appeals to you as a person, and as a friend. Everybody has a few personal favourites with respect to the traits we look for, but certainly there are some broad characteristics as well. For example, a heavy Indian accent like "Hai yevrybaudy, hai jaambie. You yenjayed yuvarself today-aa?" is a definite put-off for most of us.
And being intelligent (!) human beings, we are all bothered that other people are judging us as well. Hence we observe people, talk, take mental notes, and constantly try to improve ourselves. There is nothing vain or petty or selfish about making these little changes for sake of being liked better by our fellow human beings. We all want to be better people, more trustworthy, more virtuous, more dilligent and hard-working. Hand-in-hand with these things are the things that make a good impression on other people, such as being more athletic or sophisticated. Ultimately, they all contribute to becoming a better person, and feeling better about oneself, apart from getting other people to like you better.
The problem, of course, is that people have long memories. You may have changed from a pukka sambhar sadam - thair sadam eating Brahmin to a connoisseur of Chinese, Mexican, Italian, Lebanese, Greek, Thai and Continental cuisines but apart from your close friends people will not have noticed.
That was just an example, of course, and I'm not actually saying that people give a damn about your culinary tastes. My point is just that the first impression is the lasting impression. That is why there is a certain allure to going to a new place to live or study. You may have been a complete geek and a dork in your past life; you may have been a failure at studies; you may have been a wimpy loser; but you now have a chance to truly leave all that behind.
The only catch is that it takes a lot of work to be the new you. Few people actually manage to accomplish the change that they swore to bring about.
That said, I'd like to point out the price of making this change.
All things in life are connected. It may be one or a hundred degrees of separation, but ultimately every aspect, every characteristic, every attribute of you is intertwined. You will not realize it at the beginning, but when you change one thing about yourself, you are subtly changing something else. Perhaps something that you did not want to be changed. If you managed to change from a bookworm to a "cool" sports-playing movie-watching swimming-trekking guy, don't be surprised if you find your grades dropping. If you work hard at your written and spoken english, don't be surprised if your home appears too small for you when you go back. If you wanted to get rid of your shyness and improve your skills at interacting with the opposite sex, don't be surprised if the people you always considered your close friends seem to be drifting away from you.
Life is never easy. One can never fully weigh all possibilities and decide upon a course of action without some degree of doubt. After choosing the course of action, accomplishing it is a hundred times harder than choosing it. Smile and take it one step at a time, and hope that it will all turn out for the best.
Cheers,
Prashanth.
All of us are in the habit of constantly judging people. It is a very human tendency to observe all these small details about the appearance and behaviour of other people and think about how much he/she appeals to you as a person, and as a friend. Everybody has a few personal favourites with respect to the traits we look for, but certainly there are some broad characteristics as well. For example, a heavy Indian accent like "Hai yevrybaudy, hai jaambie. You yenjayed yuvarself today-aa?" is a definite put-off for most of us.
And being intelligent (!) human beings, we are all bothered that other people are judging us as well. Hence we observe people, talk, take mental notes, and constantly try to improve ourselves. There is nothing vain or petty or selfish about making these little changes for sake of being liked better by our fellow human beings. We all want to be better people, more trustworthy, more virtuous, more dilligent and hard-working. Hand-in-hand with these things are the things that make a good impression on other people, such as being more athletic or sophisticated. Ultimately, they all contribute to becoming a better person, and feeling better about oneself, apart from getting other people to like you better.
The problem, of course, is that people have long memories. You may have changed from a pukka sambhar sadam - thair sadam eating Brahmin to a connoisseur of Chinese, Mexican, Italian, Lebanese, Greek, Thai and Continental cuisines but apart from your close friends people will not have noticed.
That was just an example, of course, and I'm not actually saying that people give a damn about your culinary tastes. My point is just that the first impression is the lasting impression. That is why there is a certain allure to going to a new place to live or study. You may have been a complete geek and a dork in your past life; you may have been a failure at studies; you may have been a wimpy loser; but you now have a chance to truly leave all that behind.
The only catch is that it takes a lot of work to be the new you. Few people actually manage to accomplish the change that they swore to bring about.
That said, I'd like to point out the price of making this change.
All things in life are connected. It may be one or a hundred degrees of separation, but ultimately every aspect, every characteristic, every attribute of you is intertwined. You will not realize it at the beginning, but when you change one thing about yourself, you are subtly changing something else. Perhaps something that you did not want to be changed. If you managed to change from a bookworm to a "cool" sports-playing movie-watching swimming-trekking guy, don't be surprised if you find your grades dropping. If you work hard at your written and spoken english, don't be surprised if your home appears too small for you when you go back. If you wanted to get rid of your shyness and improve your skills at interacting with the opposite sex, don't be surprised if the people you always considered your close friends seem to be drifting away from you.
Life is never easy. One can never fully weigh all possibilities and decide upon a course of action without some degree of doubt. After choosing the course of action, accomplishing it is a hundred times harder than choosing it. Smile and take it one step at a time, and hope that it will all turn out for the best.
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Saturday, August 06, 2005
One flew over the Atlantic Ocean
I'm flying tomorrow night... to the land of the free, home of the brave (did I get that right?!). So I'm likely to be offline for 4-5 days. Will write about my experiences as soon as I can - I'm sure I'll have loads to say! A big thank you and goodbye to bloggers I'm in touch with by phone... from now on it will be purely through the net.
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
The Scientific Spirit
Sometimes I think I was born to be a scientist or a researcher. I keep coming up with innovative but utterly half-baked ideas. I also have a tendency to forget things under my mentally filed "unimportant" category, earning me quite a reputation for being absent minded. Which, I'm told, is an important qualification for being a scientist.
When I was about 10-11 years old and had just learnt about conductors and insulators, one day I was hanging around the kitchen making sure my Mom got my Pizza topping absolutely right. Then my Mom went to the living room to answer a phone call, and when I heard the buzz of the oven signifying that my Pizza was ready, I wanted to remove it from the oven. So I looked for an "insulator" to protect my hand while I opened the oven door, and picked up a plastic bag that had been lying around. Fortunately my Mom arrived then and gave me a scolding. Oops, I thought, I forgot about the melting point of plastics.
Years later, after I'd learnt that one of the functions of air-conditioners is dehumidification, I dried my hair in front of the A/C, figuring that the rate of evaporation would be only slightly less than using a drier because the air was dehumidified. The next day I caught a cold.
Actually I have a tendency to catch colds frequently. So I repeated the brilliant act mentioned above in order to condition my body to resist colds. Incidentally, it doesn't work.
I don't quite think I will reach the level of Thomas Alva Edison, even though I have considerably more common sense now than when I was a kid (though some might dispute that also!). My cousins swear that I will never make a good manager but I will surely make a brilliant scientist, and encouraged me to abandon my idea of doing an MBA in favour of doing a Ph.D. Even though I have drifted more towards engineering than the pure sciences, I guess research is research. Makes me feel more confident that I am in line, or nearly so, with my true calling.
Cheers,
Prashanth.
When I was about 10-11 years old and had just learnt about conductors and insulators, one day I was hanging around the kitchen making sure my Mom got my Pizza topping absolutely right. Then my Mom went to the living room to answer a phone call, and when I heard the buzz of the oven signifying that my Pizza was ready, I wanted to remove it from the oven. So I looked for an "insulator" to protect my hand while I opened the oven door, and picked up a plastic bag that had been lying around. Fortunately my Mom arrived then and gave me a scolding. Oops, I thought, I forgot about the melting point of plastics.
Years later, after I'd learnt that one of the functions of air-conditioners is dehumidification, I dried my hair in front of the A/C, figuring that the rate of evaporation would be only slightly less than using a drier because the air was dehumidified. The next day I caught a cold.
Actually I have a tendency to catch colds frequently. So I repeated the brilliant act mentioned above in order to condition my body to resist colds. Incidentally, it doesn't work.
I don't quite think I will reach the level of Thomas Alva Edison, even though I have considerably more common sense now than when I was a kid (though some might dispute that also!). My cousins swear that I will never make a good manager but I will surely make a brilliant scientist, and encouraged me to abandon my idea of doing an MBA in favour of doing a Ph.D. Even though I have drifted more towards engineering than the pure sciences, I guess research is research. Makes me feel more confident that I am in line, or nearly so, with my true calling.
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Friday, July 29, 2005
Graduation...
Finally, it's over. We had our convocation today, and I am now officially Prashanth Sriram, B.Tech, M.Tech, IIT Madras.
Strangely, it didn't feel one bit as though I were going through a momentous, once-in-a-lifetime occasion. I've had unforgettable moments in my life, and even written poetry about them. Well this wasn't one of them. I'm not entirely sure why, but I attach absolutely no importance to the fact that I've graduated. I was making jokes that this, being the 42nd convocation, is the answer to our lives, the universe and everything. I stared at my neighbour's hair, wondering why it looked diferent, until she blushed and said that she'd had a straightening perm. Well, you get the overall picture.
Maybe its because I know that I've gone from being an outstanding student to merely above average. I mean, I haven't done much academically in five years of life at IIT Madras to be proud of. Well... not much outside of academics for that matter! Still, I haven't really put up any performances to be majorly ashamed of either. I think the mediocrity of my existence is killing me slowly... perhaps a new atmosphere is exactly what the doctor ordered. If I'm lucky and find true happiness there, I just might extricate myself from this unshakeable sense of sheer boredom. I need to rekindle my passion for work, and perhaps therein lies my salvation.
Wonder if there are other people out there in the world who feel this way.
Anyway, after the function was over, I realized I had no desire to stop for celebration or goodbyes or gossip. I was the first one to hand in my robes. Fortunately, on the way back, I ran into some friends whom I was genuinely glad to see, so I did celebrate / gossip / say goodbyes after all!
Now comes the strange part. On the way back home, I stopped at the Shiva temple inside the campus to say a prayer of thanks. Well, I'm not actually a believer, and I rarely pray for anything, believing instead that if I want anything I should be capable of getting it by myself or I don't deserve it. No, the thing is that I sometimes go inside temples to say my thanks, for I don't know whom else to address my thanks. And the funny thing is that on a day as important as the convocation, there were very few people in the temple, and not one of them looked like a newly graduated student. I wasn't so early that nobody had had the time to reach the temple; I wasn't so late that everybody had left; I fully expected the temple to be teeming with students and their families. The only explanation I can think of is that people conveniently forget their Gods at times when They are not needed. I mean, people say prayers of request, instead of prayers of thanks. Which sounds extremely selfish and against my expectations of Theists. Perhaps the Gods, if any, would look more kindly upon me than these so-called believers.
Come to think of it, maybe they actually do!
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Strangely, it didn't feel one bit as though I were going through a momentous, once-in-a-lifetime occasion. I've had unforgettable moments in my life, and even written poetry about them. Well this wasn't one of them. I'm not entirely sure why, but I attach absolutely no importance to the fact that I've graduated. I was making jokes that this, being the 42nd convocation, is the answer to our lives, the universe and everything. I stared at my neighbour's hair, wondering why it looked diferent, until she blushed and said that she'd had a straightening perm. Well, you get the overall picture.
Maybe its because I know that I've gone from being an outstanding student to merely above average. I mean, I haven't done much academically in five years of life at IIT Madras to be proud of. Well... not much outside of academics for that matter! Still, I haven't really put up any performances to be majorly ashamed of either. I think the mediocrity of my existence is killing me slowly... perhaps a new atmosphere is exactly what the doctor ordered. If I'm lucky and find true happiness there, I just might extricate myself from this unshakeable sense of sheer boredom. I need to rekindle my passion for work, and perhaps therein lies my salvation.
Wonder if there are other people out there in the world who feel this way.
Anyway, after the function was over, I realized I had no desire to stop for celebration or goodbyes or gossip. I was the first one to hand in my robes. Fortunately, on the way back, I ran into some friends whom I was genuinely glad to see, so I did celebrate / gossip / say goodbyes after all!
Now comes the strange part. On the way back home, I stopped at the Shiva temple inside the campus to say a prayer of thanks. Well, I'm not actually a believer, and I rarely pray for anything, believing instead that if I want anything I should be capable of getting it by myself or I don't deserve it. No, the thing is that I sometimes go inside temples to say my thanks, for I don't know whom else to address my thanks. And the funny thing is that on a day as important as the convocation, there were very few people in the temple, and not one of them looked like a newly graduated student. I wasn't so early that nobody had had the time to reach the temple; I wasn't so late that everybody had left; I fully expected the temple to be teeming with students and their families. The only explanation I can think of is that people conveniently forget their Gods at times when They are not needed. I mean, people say prayers of request, instead of prayers of thanks. Which sounds extremely selfish and against my expectations of Theists. Perhaps the Gods, if any, would look more kindly upon me than these so-called believers.
Come to think of it, maybe they actually do!
Cheers,
Prashanth.
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
Intuition?
I'm still not sure whether there is such a thing as destiny, or there isn't; I'm still not sure whether there is such a thing as luck, or there isn't. So I'm going to briefly put down my academic life history here, and let you be the judge.
Every once in a while, one comes to a crossroad in one's life, when one must make choices. Choices are made on the basis of conviction, or advice. Well, for most people anyway. For me, everything seems to happen just by intuition.
I remember choosing Computer Science as my group in high school simply because I thought computers were cool. It turned out that I'm a natural at programming.
I remember joining coaching classes for IIT-JEE because I was told that the IITs are the best place for engineering studies in India. I made it in. I was told to choose the Dual Degree program in Mechanical Engineering because it was the "highest" program available for my rank. I didn't have a better suggestion so I went ahead and took it.
I remember choosing Industrial Engineering as my minor stream more out of whim than calculation. Looking back, I will surely say that the IE subjects were by far my favourite in IIT Madras.
I remember changing my M.Tech specialization to Manufacturing from Design because I found it hard to "connect" with my major, and I figured that if I connected it to my minor, I could do it indirectly! Another brilliant choice. I landed a project sponsored by GM for my thesis and did well.
I remember applying only to top B-schools for my Ph.D., out of a wish to study Operations Management. I added PSU's engineering school to the list as an after-thought, and I still don't know why I did it. It so happened that PSU was the only University to offer me an admit.
So that is the convoluted path that I have travelled to end up where I am. As strange as it may seem, in retrospect I think that I've ended up choosing one of the best paths among those available to me. I'm not entirely sure of my reasons for making any of the decisions; they happened more from intuition than anything else.
What is it that has made this happen? Do I have a date with some destiny, and my life is steering me towards it by sending some subconscious signals to my brain? Was it pure luck that I've done things right? Am I a genius who can do reasonably well at anything he touches, and my decisions didn't matter after all? Or am I actually mistaken, and there is some better path that I could have chosen?
The truth is probably a combination of more than one of the above. I wish I could peep into parallel universes to see what would have happened if I'd done things differently. But for the moment, I am content to rely on my gift - intuition? luck? destiny? whichever one it is. In any case, life seems to have decided to take my hand and lead me on. And the touch is comforting.
Cheers,
Prashanth.
P.S. I know I bored some of you with all these specifics, but I'm not looking to win a popularity contest here.
Every once in a while, one comes to a crossroad in one's life, when one must make choices. Choices are made on the basis of conviction, or advice. Well, for most people anyway. For me, everything seems to happen just by intuition.
I remember choosing Computer Science as my group in high school simply because I thought computers were cool. It turned out that I'm a natural at programming.
I remember joining coaching classes for IIT-JEE because I was told that the IITs are the best place for engineering studies in India. I made it in. I was told to choose the Dual Degree program in Mechanical Engineering because it was the "highest" program available for my rank. I didn't have a better suggestion so I went ahead and took it.
I remember choosing Industrial Engineering as my minor stream more out of whim than calculation. Looking back, I will surely say that the IE subjects were by far my favourite in IIT Madras.
I remember changing my M.Tech specialization to Manufacturing from Design because I found it hard to "connect" with my major, and I figured that if I connected it to my minor, I could do it indirectly! Another brilliant choice. I landed a project sponsored by GM for my thesis and did well.
I remember applying only to top B-schools for my Ph.D., out of a wish to study Operations Management. I added PSU's engineering school to the list as an after-thought, and I still don't know why I did it. It so happened that PSU was the only University to offer me an admit.
So that is the convoluted path that I have travelled to end up where I am. As strange as it may seem, in retrospect I think that I've ended up choosing one of the best paths among those available to me. I'm not entirely sure of my reasons for making any of the decisions; they happened more from intuition than anything else.
What is it that has made this happen? Do I have a date with some destiny, and my life is steering me towards it by sending some subconscious signals to my brain? Was it pure luck that I've done things right? Am I a genius who can do reasonably well at anything he touches, and my decisions didn't matter after all? Or am I actually mistaken, and there is some better path that I could have chosen?
The truth is probably a combination of more than one of the above. I wish I could peep into parallel universes to see what would have happened if I'd done things differently. But for the moment, I am content to rely on my gift - intuition? luck? destiny? whichever one it is. In any case, life seems to have decided to take my hand and lead me on. And the touch is comforting.
Cheers,
Prashanth.
P.S. I know I bored some of you with all these specifics, but I'm not looking to win a popularity contest here.
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