Too much....

I have too much on my plate at the moment. It must be obvious to the few people who read this blog that I haven't been around much on blogger the past month or so. It's going to continue this way for a couple of weeks more, until things cool down around here. I haven't really lost interest in blogging, it's just that blogging has to take a back seat to real life.

My rambling mind makes a weird connection to this: when I play bridge, I get awarded masterpoints for good finishes. As I gain more points, my ACBL ranking improves. Initially I would keep track of such things, but in the past few months I realized the futility and vaingloriousness of it all. There are a lot of important things in life. Things like bridge and blogging may be fun pastimes, but they don't come under the category of important things to deal with. They are things to do when one has leisure time, which for me has been increasingly at a premium.

At present, I'm sitting at one of those cusps in life when everything can change; in another year or so, my life might be unrecognizable from what it is today. I'll be back to the blog world after two weeks. In the meantime, wish me luck.

Cheers,
Prashanth.

Degrees of Freedom

It's a rather stupid pun, actually. That the more degrees you study, the more degrees of freedom your career has.

Education may not be necessary for making a good career for yourself, but it certainly helps. For all the people who roll their eyes at grad students and claim that a bachelor's degree is more than enough to start you off and the rest is up to your ingenuity, I feel only pity. Not everyone has a love of learning, but at least be smart enough to acknowledge that having an additional degree to your name will take your farther in your career.

The thing is, I am considering extending my Ph.D. by a year to get a masters in math. If I do that, I'll be qualified as a mechanical engineer, manufacturing engineer, industrial engineer, operations researcher and a mathematician, all before my 27th birthday! Strangely, I do not think any part of that education is wasted. As a matter of fact, I do not think any education at all is wasted. Education is the one of the few things that nobody can take away from you. It is a source of respect, from the self and from others.

Now, I feel that the more diverse your education is, the more breadth of problem solving methods you can bring to bear on your work. I have made it a point to take courses from fields as diverse as electrical engineering and chemical engineering, and I am constantly surprised by how useful it would be to approach a problem in my field (er... fields, if you prefer) from their perspective. It's so interesting, sometimes I think I could do another couple of degrees after this one.... kidding! Three is enough... a fourth I am considering. End of story :)

Cheers,
Prashanth.

The Uncertainty Principle in Life

Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle states that the more accurately you try to measure the position of a particle, the less accurately you can measure its velocity, and vice versa. It is not that the particle itself does not have an exact position or velocity; rather, the act of observation itself is associated with such uncertainty.

A strange thought struck me this week. The more sure I feel about where I stand, the less sure I feel about where I am going. If I manage to decide upon where I am indeed going with my life, I feel insecure about where I stand right now in the context of that goal.

Profound, or profoundly stupid? I don't know.

Cheers,
Prashanth.

Table for one, please

It happened again.

I walked into a restaurant, and said those words. And they had to ask, with raised eyebrow, "Just one?"

What is it with these Americans? If you have lunch alone, is there something wrong with you? I'm a poor Indian graduate student... this is hardly unusual for me, anywhere.

In India, if you saw a guy working late in his lab on a friday night, you would think, "That's one hard-working guy." Here, if you see the same, you're supposed to think, "Loser." The culture conditions you to think like that.

Wake up, America. You can't complain about offshoring when party culture rules work culture in your midst.

Btw, Jorge Cham knows where to hit the humour nail:

Say Cheese,
Prashanth.

I'll never understand...

- How I can be an expert on cooking in theory (thanks to a lifetime's worth of influence of Tamil Nadu's foremost expert in the field) but suck at it in practice... big time!

- How I can consider it a compliment to be described thus: "Prashanth is a nice guy but very, very weird."

- Why there is a Northern Blot, a Southern Blot, and a Western Blot but no Eastern Blot. And the fact that none of those blots have anything do with the cardinal directions (they are names of experimental techniques in biology, for those who are wondering what on Earth I'm talking about).

- Why I do a lot of day-dreaming but little of regular, ol' fashioned night dreaming.

- How I can clench my teeth stoically at physical pain but cry like a baby when watching a sentimental movie.

- How I can be a systematic and analytical thinker when it comes to academics but keep messing up the mundane matters in life.

*sigh* What can I say, that's me.

Looking forward to....

Eragon: The Movie

In a kingdom ruled by an immortal and tyrannical king, people cower in fear and pray for a saviour. Some whisper about the days when the Dragon Riders were the guardians of people, and used their magical abilities for the good of the realm.

Eragon is the first person to be marked with the sign of the dragon in over a thousand years, and becomes a magnet for danger, and a beacon for hope...


Incidentally, Christopher Paolini wrote the book Eragon at the age of 15! Unbelievable, isn't it?

Pssst... girls... do you find the hero smart/handsome? Maybe the next generation of people like me will be able to talk to girls about dragons without feeling weird :)

View the trailer for the movie here.

Neverwinter Nights 2: The Game

The Sword Coast teeters on the brink of war, at a time when the realm desperately needs to stand united against dark forces gathering under the banner of a legendary evil. A lone hero comes into possession of a mysterious relic, whose secrets hold the key to a situation that threatens to enslave the world...

I've never pre-ordered a game in my life, but I've done so now. NWN2 is the most looked-forward-to computer game of the year, because it will combine the party-based strategies of Baldur's Gate with the 3D graphics and character-building mechanism that was so successful in the original installment of NWN.


View the trailer for the game here. (takes a minute to download)

A privileged life

Edit: I guess this article didn't come out the way I wanted it to... it is too preachy and dull... I'm going to leave it in the archives of this blog.

"Welcome to the lab," an array of friendly faces of different nationalities greeted me and shook my hand. A corner of my mind told me that I would spending most of my time over the next few years with these people. They would be my new best friends, and my family away from family.

Birthdays. Movies. Talk. Work. Lunch. Life. The tide of time swept us down myriad paths, but threads of our lives were intertwined irrevocably. The Indians in the lab, including me, were bonded even more closely by virtue of culture, language and history. And yet, we lived in the present, and for the present; there were gaps in our knowledge and understanding of each other. I glimpsed it when I joined some of them in the company of other people I didn't know. Like when Krish's friends came along for a movie one day.

Krish, short for a name with nearly as many syllables as there are states in India, known to our American friends as Kris. Krish, the friendly guy I knew who traded banter with more skill than a Dow Jones broker. Krish, who worked as hard as any of us, made as many mistakes as any of us, who was as normal as any of us.

Krish, who for some inexplicable reason, was addressed with a respectful Anna (Brother) by his friends.

If it happens once, I have to remember. If it happens twice, I have to understand. This time, Krish was explaining to some of us how the test for the driving licence would be conducted, and what were the common mistakes one could make. The aura of respectful deferment that I'd sensed earlier was far more marked this time. I just had to know what was going on. When I had a free moment with Krish and another friend from the lab, I asked, "Are you a mafia don? Why do they call you Anna all the time?"

He just smiled enigmatically. An even more enigmatic reply came from our friend there, who knew Krish better than I did, "When you do things for people that they cannot do for themselves, they respect you."

Broad conclusions can be drawn from broad data. Krish's friends spoke a far purer version of Telugu than I did, and from some of things they'd said, I knew they hailed from small towns or perhaps even villages. These were people who probably had none of the privileges I had, none of the knowledge, none of the connections, none of the training, and little of the money. They'd worked themselves to this reputed university through sheer tenacity and the dream of making their parents proud, giving them a comfortable life in their later years, and giving their children more opportunities than they'd had themselves. Krish's family, on the other hand, had moved to Hyderabad from a small town a long time ago, and made their fortune there. Krish had then trained for the IITs and made it, finally coming to this university. In other words, Krish had knowledge of both worlds. He must have been helping these people for a long time, telling them what to do and how to do it, from applying to an American university, to understanding the American way of life.

I found myself irrationally filled with shame. I'd led a far more privileged life than Krish. Is it not the responsibility of the privileged to guide and help those who are not so fortunate? I'd had the best teachers, the best facilities, the best guides; I could have done a lot more in my life for others, without losing anything myself. And I dared treat Krish like an equal.

I examined my own life in the light of what I now understood about respect. The surprising wedding invitation from a person I hadn't spoken to in ten years. My memories told me I'd helped him with his Math when we were in school. The equally surprising manner in which another old classmate tracked me down to reestablish our friendship. This was a kid who'd been the butt of all jokes and vicious teasing, but who I'd always treated fairly and as an equal. People whose lives I'd touched - apparently - more than their lives had touched mine. People whose respect I'd earned, without meaning to.

Every person I'd helped with their homework or their studies, every person I'd set an example to with my actions, every person for whom I did something they couldn't do for themselves... they respected me. I may not quite be the Godfather figure that Krish was, but I guess I haven't wasted my privileged life....

Reclaiming a lost childhood

No, I didn't have a deprived childhood; quite the opposite, actually. I'm not talking about material, or even emotional needs here; I'm talking about books.

You heard me. Books. Anyone who knows me will tell you that I have my nose inside a book most of the time, and I've been that way right from childhood. However, after coming to the USA, I see before me a far wider array of books than I could even hope to get access to in those days. All the things I was fond of, and fantasized about, when I was in my early teens: starships, time travel, robots, swordsmen, dragons, wizards, and so on, wrought in black and white letters... and to me, black and white letters are good enough to conjure up vivid three dimensional images, sounds and feelings in my head.

So, although I had tons of books to read, the ones I love best were in short supply. Now, like a maniac, I've been reading all such books in an attempt to "reclaim my lost childhood". This weird mixture of refusing to grow up in some respects and lecturing like a veteran in other respects is amusing and annoying at the same time. And yet, I can't help but be me.

Cheers,
Prashanth.

Last book I read: The White Gryphon by Mercedes Lackey

Old dogs and new tricks

I've always held that the average human being's command of the English language starts dropping sometime between graduating high school and graduating college, and keeps dropping after that unless conscious measures are taken. We find it progressively difficult to maintain our fluency, leave alone improve. We become better at saying the things we are used to saying, but worse at the rest. I hunt and grope for words I know I know, but can't remember exactly, and settle for imperfect substitutes or long-winded explanations. For example, I wanted to say "esoteric" last week, but my memory failed me and I stuttered and ended up asking, "What's the word for known to a select few?"

I'm yet to reach a verdict on whether things work the same way with my courses and research. If I don't apply my knowledge of some field for a while, no matter how basic it is, will I forget? Am I finding it hard to learn some new topic simply because it is a difficult subject, or is it because I'm losing the will or capacity to learn new things?

Is it harder to teach an old dog new tricks because the old dog doesn't want to learn, or because the old dog finds it more difficult to learn? Are they, in fact, one and the same thing?

Alright, I know I'm just 23 and hardly an "old dog", but I swear my patience for course work is nowhere near what it used to be. Did I lose the inclination, or the capacity, or do I still have both but just feel insecure?

These are sad times indeed, when I need to fortify myself with caffeine to get work done. Time was, when I would perk up on looking at the problem and get through it with adrenaline instead of caffeine.

Cheers,
Prashanth.

Last book I read: Equal Rites by Terry Pratchett

Relativity and all that jazz

When I was in high school, our teachers had the opportunity to send a handful of us to spend time with renowned physicist and mathematician Alladi Ramakrishnan and learn something useful. So, this little group of about 5-6 "gifted" students went to the scientist's humble abode, where he tried to inspire us with talk and some interesting problems. After all, the gifted youth of today are the leaders of science and industry tomorrow.

I knew little about the man, but there were a couple of real geniuses in our group, and they were truly in awe of him. That alone convinced me to be respectful and try to not make a fool of myself. However, inept mathematician that I am, I got our host vexed with me rather quickly. My grades may be good, but I always knew I didn't belong in the same league as some of the other kids in that room. Incidentally, our friend the Artful Badger was with us that day, and he easily belongs in that "genius" category.

When we went back that day, I could only think of one thing to say.

"Guys... will we all grow up to be grumpy old men like that?"

I'd asked the question in all seriousness, but it earned me a laugh and an admonishment to remember what a great man we'd just met.

I never did find out if all gifted young men grow up to become grumpy old men. But that was my first brush with Relativity. Over that year, I had plenty more opportunities to understand the Special Theory of Relativity. I found it very interesting, and I think I grasped parts of it in principle, but very little of the mathematics. But after high school, things like Relativity just took a back seat. Engineering is pretty different from the pure sciences.

I've always wished I knew more physics and math. Fortunately or unfortunately, this PhD has opened up so many new vistas of learning which are of higher priority that I don't know when I will ever get back to studying things like physics, math... even sanskrit.

But someday I will learn Relativity. And all that jazz!

Cheers,
Prashanth.

Last book I read: Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card. There was a mention of time dilation at near-light speeds in that book which prompted this post.

A sigh of relief

Dear Prashanth:

I am glad to inform you that you have passed the Department Candidacy Examination you took in August 2006. Congratulations !


Thus went the email. What a relief! I do not want to take that test again.

Next milestone: Comprehensive exam. I'm likely to take it in another one year or so. For now, I only have to think about where I will be taking my friends to celebrate.

Cheers,
Prashanth.

Currently Reading: Dune Messiah By Frank Herbert

Out of Service

So says the sign on the water fountain down the corridor, but its equally applicable to me. I've been down with cough, cold, fever, headache and a variety of other minor ailments this week and have almost, but not quite, recovered. Just today, I ordered my sub and said "No Onions" instead of "No Tomatoes" and had to suffer the consequences. Well, maybe that was because of my own absent-mindedness but I like blaming things on my illnesses. A little perverse pleasure.

I'm technically alright now, so its back to work and extra work to catch up with everything I've missed this week. The brief period when my illness wasn't too bad and I could sit in bed and read all day is over, and I'm back in "service" with a lot of serving to do.

Cheers,
Prashanth.

Something meaningful...

I started earning money only two years ago, and although it wasn't much at that point, I wanted to make a small donation to charity from my first salary. Of course, I had no idea how to do that, so I waffled until I submitted my Master's thesis and then handed the little sum to my Mom, telling her that I wanted something meaningful to come from it. Today, I was talking to her and she mentioned that the money had gone into paying the school fees for two poor children for a whole year! It nearly brought tears to my eyes. Trust Mom to know exactly what I would have wanted to do with it, and then getting the maximum out of it!

Little things like these help me remember that my efforts in life will never go wasted. Makes it easier to face the next sunrise.

When the circle completes...

Coincidences are amazing. In fact, it's easier to think that there is no such thing as coincidence and that everything happens by design.

Approximately one year ago, I wrote this post talking about some weird coincidences, and a handful of people... no, I'll say it openly, a handful of idiots in my town who do not believe in evolution and go around trying to convince others of the same thing.

Full circle. Another weird set of coincidences has brought up the same topic.

- First, I wrote this story which hardly anybody read but it basically uses a fantasy world to talk about how men of religion love to put men of science in poor light, when it is the latter who actually have a better grasp of the ideas of good and bad, being trained to think impartially.

- Then, I joined this science blog at Born a Libran's suggestion, my posts wandered of their own accord to the complexity and order observed in nature, and I talked about how such behaviour springs up easily in a distributed system.

- Today, I read this post on Sakshi's blog talking about a bill that scientists and engineers are pushing for, and some points on it reminded me of how irked the scientific community is by the the government's tacit support of the Intelligent Design theory.

The difference is that this time around, I have a lot more scientific background, as my research touched upon control theory, complexity, biology and a lot of things that actually conspire to add up to the same thing.

Scientists will make far better priests, spiritualists and theists than the most ardent of religious devotees.

The reason is that a scientist knows to separate religion from God, doctrine from morality, mythology from history. In his quest for knowledge, a scientists uncovers more wonders about the universe than other people. And after applying the scientific method and sifting painstakingly through fact and fiction, if he still believes in God, his faith is that much more unshakeable.

There is no evidence to say that spirituality and science are irreconcilable. There is evidence to say that man evolved from apes. By saying that evolution happened, nobody is saying that God does not exist, or that religions are wrong. At best, it says that holy books can be written or interpreted wrongly, which theologists will tell you themselves. It is my understanding that a great number of scientists, including Albert Einstein himself, were and are Theists.

I'll not go so far as to claim that scientists have done no wrong. Just as a great deal of wrong has been done in the name of religion, a great deal of wrong has been done in the name of science.

But science and religion should not be at war. Since I brought up Albert Einstein, I'll drop one of his quotes here:

"Science without religion is lame, religion without science is blind."

Amen to that.

Cheers,
Prashanth.

Hows this for a toast?

I was reading a book called "The Computational Beauty of Nature" and I was positively clutching my sides, rolling on the floor laughing when I came across this comment by the author:

Engineers work with real world problems, but fudge their results. Mathematicians get precise results, but work with toy problems. Computer scientists, being neither engineers nor mathematicians, work with toy problems and fudge their results.

Now, that would make for a great toast when some of my friends are around! What it needs though, is something about biologists, considering that more than one regular reader of this blog is a biologist. Any suggestions? *evil grin*

Cheers,
Prashanth.

A longish story

This story came out a bit long, in spite of my attempts at making it as concise as possible. It is based in the same world as this one, but should appeal to more readers because the focus is on the hypocrisy of those who work in the name of religion, and the persecution of scientists because they dare to hold their own views on God. Well, not scientists, but magicians in this tale, but as it is often said, what is science but magic to the uninitiated?


Lesk viewed the two approaching riders with apprehension. Soon, he would be riding out with one of them to the Wizard Tower. What was it the High Priest had said? "Wizards and priests often have to work together, son. Think of this exchange as the first step in making ourselves comfortable with each other." As if familiarity alone would heal the rift between the wizards and the priests in the world! And now, Father Riley, standing next to him, repeated his cautions again, "Remember, Lesk, you must hide your disgust at their way of working magic. They impose their will on the elements and all things natural to tap the energies required for their magic. Their concerns are not for God's creations but themselves alone. Look, even now they offer insult to us by sending one lone apprentice to accompany you to the Tower. And here we are, giving the "contingent" a formal welcome they don't deserve. Bah!"

While the apprentices were received, Lesk took stock of the man - no, he was just a lad about his own age - he would be journeying with. His name was Kael, and he had an... intensity... in his eyes that Lesk found he couldn't meet. Like touching a smoldering fire, the thought came unbidden. "Shall we leave now?" came the polite question. Lesk nodded and gazed wistfully at the soaring spires of the Temple of Rhea, Goddess of Wind, his home for nearly as long as he'd lived. Now he was leaving for a place where power-hungry perverters of nature practised their craft. Great. Lesk spurred his horse and tore his eyes away from the comforting spires.

Kael seemed content to leave Lesk with his roiling cauldron of thoughts, talking only when it was necessary. He did, however, ask one question that brought a lump to his throat: "Can you protect yourself if we run into bandits?" Lesk stuttered, "No... no, I can sense and amplify magic, especially of the winds, but the Goddess did not gift me with the ability to cast spells. Not that I would be much good otherwise: I have taken vows to not harm another human being, even in self-defense." Kael nodded as though he'd been expecting it. "Don't worry Acco-lighty," he said flippantly, "I'll protect you." Lesk didn't know whether to be afraid of the possibility of running into bandits or annoyed at Kael's tone. He decided to be both. "Acolyte. Not Acco-lighty," he said firmly. Kael grinned, as though he was the owner of some vastly funny secret. Then, his expression changed so suddenly that Lesk snapped his head back to the road, to see what could make a magician frown like that.

It was a merchant wagon. There were two guards, but they were confronted by a semi-circle of armed bandits, some with crossbows. Kael's lips moved in spellcasting as he spurred his horse faster. Lesk felt him reel off some kind of a stay spell on the bandits, followed by a temporary spell on the grass between the thugs and the wagon. He then proceeded to calmly greet the bandits as though they were neighbours meeting on an evening stroll.

"Greetings, highwaymen," he said pleasantly.

"You two lads want to be heroes?" sneered one of the bandits, and pointed a rusty crossbow at Kael.

Kael cocked his head to the side and said, "Why, don't you know who I am? Let me give you a hint..." He pointed a finger, and the crossbow burst into flames, making the bandit drop it with a yelp of pain. Kael made another dramatic gesture with his hands, and a wall of fire rose in front of the wagon, advancing slowly but surely upon the men, visibly gaining in intensity as it did.

The men paled. "It's the Firestarter!" shouted one, and Lesk felt the first spell trigger as the bandits bolted in fear. Very good, thought Lesk. Fear always work better than bloodshed. And apparently, Kael already had some kind of a reputation with bandits.

He realized, suddenly, that Kael hadn't moved his lips in casting the last two spells. It was as though he'd simply willed fire into happening...

"You're a priest!" he blurted out. Kael merely smiled at him and dismounted to have a word with the merchant. Lesk shook his head to clear his shock. An apprentice wizard wielding priestly magic was too much for him to grasp. He pursed his lips and examined the burnt grass. Priestly magic worked very differently from wizardly magic; Kael would have had to ask an object for permission to start a fire. Lesk noticed something curious: the roots of the grass were unharmed. Belatedly, he recalled the second spell Kael had cast from the saddle. Apparently, it had been a spell of protection from fire. So that was why the Earth had agreed...

And immediately, he knew he was wrong. The request had been made with the intention of saving human lives. The incineration of a few blades of grass would be a sacrifice the Earth would be ready to make for that purpose. Which made the protection spell even more baffling, for it meant that Kael had done it for no reason other than respect, perhaps gratitude. Probably both.

Kael wrenched himself away from the profusely grateful merchant and they continued their journey. "We clearly can't camp out in the open, with the likes of those prowling around," he said, "There's a farm nearby where should be able to ask shelter for a night. Pull over for a minute while I get out of my robes. I don't want to scare the peasant folk." Sensible, thought Lesk, as Kael pulled off his robes to reveal a nondescript tunic underneath. Peasants would panic at the thought of a wizard in their midst.

As they approached the farm, Lesk saw Kael's lips move again in spellcasting, and felt energies being rearranged in the Earth around them. He sensed that it was a simple spell, but considering the area over which it was being cast, Kael would be exhausted by the time he finished. Before he could ask him what he was doing, they came upon the owner and his sons. They dismounted, and Lesk said, "Peace and Prosperity to you, sir. The Goddess' blessings upon you if you can shelter her servant for the night." "Our hospitality is ever open for a servant of the Gods," the man said in ritual answer. Lesk thanked him, and hesitated, thinking to ask hospitality for Kael as well.

To his surprise, Kael touched his forelock in acknowledgement of inferiority and humbly begged shelter and food in exchange for work. The farmer furrowed his forehead, "You're that scribe who passed by last year, aren't ya? Well, clean out the cow shed as well as you did the last time and I'll throw in breakfast as well." Kael beamed at the man, as though he couldn't incinerate his house at a thought, "Thank you for your generosity, kind sir!"

Lesk was led into the house and entertained as well as the farmer's meagre means allowed him to. But every now and then, he would glance out the window to catch a glimpse of Kael shovelling cow dung or hosing an area with water... and felt a pang of pity at a person who would one day be a great wizard, doing such demeaning work. And that too, just after casting an exhaustive spell, whatever it was. Furthermore, Kael wasn't trusted enough to sleep inside the house as Lesk was; he was asked to sleep in the workers' shelter. At least, they both got the same food...

Dawn came and the farmer's family bade them farewell. Lesk said the traditional words of blessing upon the farmer's family and fields, and used his God-given gift to feel out the harmonics of the earth and do what he could to help. He smiled in surprise as he felt everything in unnaturally perfect alignment, and the signature of Kael's spellcasting. So that was what he was doing as they rode in the previous day. "The Goddess has smiled upon you for your generosity, kind sir. I can feel it in the earth... you will have a good harvest this year."

They left with tears of happiness shining on the face of the humble farmer and his family.

"There is something I have been wanting to ask you," Lesk said to Kael when they were out of earshot. Kael sighed and braced himself for questions on his "ulterior" motives for all his actions in the past day. He knew the acolyte could sense every spell he cast...

"Are there other apprentices with Gifts of the Gods at your tower?" Lesk completed. Kael smiled. "Elemental control? No, only in a wizardly way. I'm a rare one, I'm told." "So why did they risking leaving you alone in the company of someone like me? Suppose I converted you and brought you into the fold of our temple?"

"What is the object of this entire exercise?" asked Kael. Lesk thought for a moment. "Trust," he said finally. "Exactly," concluded Kael.

Lesk pondered as they rode, until the Wizard Tower came within sight. "It was a mirrored statement," he said suddenly, "sending you as my lone escort. If we had a low opinion of you, we would feel further insulted. If we understood and trusted you, we would feel honoured. Exactly like how the Gods treat non-believers."

Kael smiled again. "And hopefully, we helped you to see that we respect life and nature every bit as much as you do, and we prefer to earn our respect the way your Scriptures say but your kind has conveniently forgotten." Lesk looked startled at the rebuke and Kael rubbed his temples. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude. Let me make it up to you... what say we twirl for a while before we meet the Arch-Mage?"

"Twirl?" Lesk asked dubiously as they approached a handful of apprentices engaged in a contest of some sort, jumping up and spinning themselves with a conjured vortex of air before they fell back to the ground. A girl younger than either of them ran up to them and declared, "Four turns! Four turns! I broke your record, Kael, you owe me five coppers!" Kael raised an eyebrow. "Well, I never claimed to be an Air Mage. But my friend here can do twice that!"

The girl finally noticed the symbol on Lesk's robes and exclaimed, "Rhea! Well, this ought to be interesting!" She joined her palms said, "Accolite ur Prestes, jwah hest an mirtranth." "Our hand in friendship to you as well, Apprentices and Wizards," Lesk said reflexively and gave Kael a sharp glance. "Accolighty indeed. Another mirrored statement!" he said in a mixture of annoyance and amusement.

Kael flashed him a grin and informed the girl, "He's a channeler, not a caster." "Oh!" she exclaimed, "Alright, get off that horse and try now," and cast a spell to invoke a slowly spinning column of air five feet in front of them.

Lesk shook his head to hide his smile. "Apology accepted!" he yelled and launched into the air as he amplified the vortex, sending himself into a graceful spin, gasping with pleasure at the feeling of pure freedom...

Tragedy is easier

A dear friend gave me pause when she said she doesn't like to read my poems because they are too sad. "A poem can be judged by the depth of emotion it invokes in you," I replied, "Does it really matter which emotion it is?"

But in my heart, I wonder why it is that my poems tend towards the tragic. Is it that I use poetry as an outlet for my troubled emotions? Is it that I aim for poignancy, and poignancy by definition involves an element of sadness? Is it that I simply find tragedy easier to pen than other types of feeling?

It strikes me that I unwittingly pull people into my melancholic moods, while doing little to spread the cheer when I am in a better frame of mind. And I'm not just talking about poetry.

This blog and the poetry blog shall archive happier thoughts from now.

Pssst... this joke made aforementioned friend laugh:
Why do PhD students tend to avoid eating apples?
Because an apple a day keeps the doctorate away.

Cheers,
Prashanth.

In for a penny, in for a pound

It's the beginning of a new semester, and I'm struck with the usual case of the blues. I caught myself blathering drowsily to my labmates that I've been studying for 3 + 12 + 5 + 1 (kindergarten, school, college, doctorate) = 21 years already and there's still no end in sight to lectures and exams. It so happens that all of those people are senior to me, so they took my raving with a pinch of salt and an air of amused tolerance.

The start of a semester serves as an ungentle reminder of what a big commitment a Ph.D. is. But there are a lot of other commitments that we make, every day of our lives. One of the few regrets of my childhood is the fact that I sometimes did not finish what I started. Little things, like sloka recitation contests, science workshops, radio plays... I would start with good intentions, but quit before completing what I set out to do. I allowed myself to be daunted by scope or defeated by my fears. I guess it's all part of growing up, that we learn to be more responsible as time goes by, but old failures always rankle.

At this stage of my life, I treat every undertaking with the philosophy of "In for a penny, in for a pound." That makes me more responsible, but also more dangerous to myself. My conscience is happier... but is my life happier? Perhaps, in the long run, it will be. Hopefully.

Cheers,
Prashanth.

Women can be sexists, too

And entertaining ones, at that! There's nothing wrong with being a feminist, but when women go too far in stereotyping men in conformation with their low opinion of them, it becomes rather hard to keep a straight face.

No, I haven't really met anyone who is as bad as what I've described above, or at least if I have, they've kept their opinions to themselves in my presence. What triggered this is this book: Rhapsody by Elizabeth Haydon. I was hunting for new fantasy authors, having come near exhausting all the books by my current favourites, and picked this one because it had good reviews.

The book does not have a heroine. It has a super-heroine. After getting "remade in fire" in an incident at one point of the story, she becomes ultra-beautiful, so drop-dead gorgeous that men propose to her on sight. And yet, she is so modest that she doesn't realize she has that kind of effect on men. What's more, she has a magical voice that can make a withered rose bloom, and she's no slouch with the sword either.

Well, there's nothing wrong with having superheros or superheroines in a fantasy novel. But what really cracked me up was that the author brings out every possible type of stereotyped male shortcoming in her other characters. For example:

Men are amoral. Not only are the villains ruthless in this book, so are the heros. They have no respect for human life in their quests, even though the ultimate objective may be noble. Rhapsody, of course, is the feminine influence who instils morals in them, and teaches them to respect life and dignity.

Men have huge egos. Rhapsody goes as an ambassador to a prince, who refuses to acknowledge the sovereignty of the nation she represents... because they sent a beautiful female ambassador, more than any other practical reason. And then he sends a small army to prove his superiority, and catch her attention. And gets thoroughly walloped on the battlefield, naturally.

Men think dirty thoughts. Men are always salivating over Rhapsody. Some even have vivid sexual daydreams. Apart from her adopted brothers, every man - even a sworn celibate priest - desires her.

Ah well. Thank God for authors like Ursula Le Guin and Janny Wurts who give women a good name in the field of fantasy fiction in general. The stamp of female authors is that they build depth into their characters by bringing out their feelings, emotions and sensitivity - or lack thereof - much better than male authors can. Male authors on the other hand are much better at bringing out the strengths and weaknesses in their characters at a non-emotional level (I don't want to get started on aspects of the story other than the characters). Unsurprisingly, when a famous male author and a famous female author write together, the result is usually magnificent (Example: Raymond Feist and Janny Wurts; Tracy Hickman and Margaret Weis).

Although Elizabeth Haydon goes overboard with her feminity, she does weave a good tale and builds a rich and magical realm. I see a lot of potential in her work, and I'm willing to give her the benefit of doubt. I will read the rest of the series, for the sake of the story even if not much else...

Cheers,
Prashanth.

.... and then you wish you hadn't

It's finally over. One harrowing week of banging my head on walls, furniture and computers trying to solve questions that either do not have answers, or involve doing a thesis for getting the answer, or have answers that have nothing to do with the question. If that does not make sense, you should try taking one of these exams and figure it out for yourself.

I want to rant.
I want to rave.
I want to yell.
I want to throttle somebody's, anybody's, neck.

I just want to vent my frustration on someone or something.

I sincerely hope I don't flunk, as that would involve taking the test again after 6 months.

I'm going to toss a coin. Heads, I play a computer game. Tails, I read a novel.

Regular programming will commence after I regain a shred of sanity.

Some tests one can look forward to

Well, for once I don't mean tests in the sense of life's trials, but in the sense of an examination. Yes, although I am 23 years old, I am still studying and will do so for another three years at least, and I will have to take several exams during that time.

This week I have a big one: my Ph.D. Candidacy (Qualifying) Exam. The nice thing about studying in the US is that I have never dreaded a single exam here; they are just designed so well that I actually look forward to them. For example, this one is a week-long take home exam in which I have to choose three research problems out of twenty to work on. There is no possibility of cheating because there are no correct answers. There are no marks or grades, just a yes or no vote by the faculty as to whether they think I am competent enough to continue at Penn State. Preparation? Study everything. Or nothing. I naturally chose the latter.

These are real tests. This is as far from rote learning as it gets. This is the learn-by-doing and prove-by-doing method. People generally recommend a middle ground between the two, but in my opinion, this is an excellent testing scheme. Most of the exams I have taken here are open-book and many are take-home. I think it is a good test of intelligence, hard work, knowledge and intuition.

I'm not going to pretend that I'll be away from blogger during this time because I know I will take ample breaks: one week is a long time. Wish me luck!

Cheers,
Prashanth.

A Short Non-Story

Disclaimer: This is an "art" article. I am not trying to present any theories or saying anything about my own spiritual beliefs; and I most definitely do not want anyone to take offense on religious or spiritual grounds.

I hovered at the edge of Oblivion, pondering the maze in front of me. At least, the little that I had been allowed to glimpse.

Like countless times before, I would soon be walking that maze. Innumerable forks and turns, each representing a decision in life; some big, some small. Some can be undone; most can't. At the end of that maze, I would know how much farther or closer I was to the end of the real journey. But in what appeared to be a cruel jest, some paths in the maze were lined with soft flowers, and some were lined with sharp thorns; and the flower beds rarely took you closer to the Destination.

In what I knew to be a cruel jest, I would be forced to walk blindfolded. Not in the conventional sense, but in the sense that I would be stripped of all conscious knowledge and memory of my past before this instant. I would have to learn my lessons all over again, and never even be told that there is a destination, nor how to get there. It was all one big test: and a test of the conscious, as we all know, is incomplete. Test the subconscious as well, and one who passes can be trusted forever. If you offer a man a great deal of money for doing harm to someone, and he resists his temptation, your job is half done. If the thought of accepting never even occurs to him, your job is fully done.

It was almost time to leave Oblivion. I sighed. I was loathe to give up all I'd become, even though I knew I would get it all back with interest soon. Perversely, I wondered why everybody called it Oblivion, because to me it was reality; the mazes were Oblivion. No, that wasn't fair; the Destination is the only true Oblivion. Freedom from the cycles of the mazes of life. Nobody really knew what it would be like once one reached the Destination, because nobody ever came back. People speculated that it would be like the Heaven imagined by mortals in the mazes. But I knew better. It would be true Oblivion. The Divine Reward.

It was time. Somewhere in a hospital, a baby was born. I took a deep breath and stepped into the maze, surrendering my identity.

The baby cried.

Book Tag

I've been tagged by Artful Badger. He knows I won't say no to anything that involves books!

One book that changed your life

When I was a kid, my school would award books as prizes for those who performed well in their studies, and I always wondered which teachers picked the books because they had excellent taste. The first time I won one of these was in third grade, when I received a really cute book called "My Book of Stars and Planets" in which a white-bearded wizard (with no resemblance to Gandalf or Santa Claus) wearing a blue hat adorned with stars walked you through the fundamentals of astronomy. So, at the age of eight I knew that Sirius was a binary star system, and that the second brightest star visible from Earth is Canopus, and plenty of other things that most people don't learn even in their lifetimes. It was the first time I'd ever read a fun and informative book, and from that day I was permanently hooked to books in life!

One book you have read more than once

Second Foundation by Isaac Asimov is probably the book I've read most times in my life. The Lord of the Rings trilogy is next I think. Magician by Raymond Feist is the one I wish I'd discovered earlier so that it could beat aforementioned books.

One book you would want on a deserted island

Just one? No fair! I refuse to answer.

One book that made you laugh

The Color of Magic by Terry Pratchett, first novel in the Discworld series. Must be the funniest book I've ever read. He takes a dig at everything from physics to economics to fantasy fiction. The entire story is based on a world which is a flat plate mounted on the back of a gigantic turtle (sex unknown) with the help of four elephants. Pssst... the Discworlders named the elephants. You get the picture.

One book that made you cry

The Dispossessed by Ursula Le Guin. It is very difficult for me to describe this book; it is technically a science fiction book because it is based on a different world, but for all practical purposes it is a philosophical novel on the lines of Atlas Shrugged, only more powerful and raising more questions. I highly recommended it for all types of readers.

One book you wish had been written

A compendium of life's lessons. Every person should write one for his/her own life. And keep writing till life ends. When you put into words what you've experienced, you understand your lessons more fully. And you will never forget.

One book you wish had never been written

Now, now, that's a really cruel thing to say about any book :). Imagine dramatic movie scene where hysterical kid tells his book, "I wish you'd never been written!".

One book you are currently reading

Time enough for love by Robert Heinlein. I love Heinlein for his honesty, notwithstanding the fact that he writes only fiction. He does go to extremes at times, though. Wonder how this one will end...

One book you have been meaning to read

The Inscrutable Americans by Anurag Mathur. Been on the look out for it for years; now it looks like I'll have to make an active effort to find it.


In keeping with tradition, I'm not tagging anybody further. I mean, I love books, but I'm not all that fond of tags :)

Cheers,
Prashanth.

The truth and the whole truth

Why are you anonymous?

If you ask that question of anyone, you must have been born yesterday. And if you ask it of a blogger, you really need to get your head checked. Blogs are very personal. People don't want to tell their innermost thoughts to strangers unless they have no way of telling who they are. And as with any online experience, women on blogworld need to protect themselves. There have also been incidents of bloggers facing pressure from their employers for things they say on their blogs; for that reason, my friend the Artful Badger recently decided that on his transition from student to employee, he should make himself anonymous on Blogger.

There are plenty more reasons for being anonymous, but I'll stop here. But all this begs the question: why are there so many bloggers who are not anonymous? In particular, me? It's not that I don't say personal things on my blog. Far from it. Thinking on these lines, I suddenly realized that I've never been anonymous anywhere. Even my email id's read like firstname.lastname@blah.com, and my few online profiles inevitably have my full name and location on them. And I came to the conclusion that because I'm incapable of being a convincing dissembler, I decided not to try.

I must have read too many stories with morals when I was a kid. I tend to tell the truth and the whole truth at any point of time. Growing up taught me that I shouldn't, but old habits die hard. Flash back to incidents at school when I was just a kid....

- I'm playing cricket with my friends. I'm on the batting side, but fielding at the moment to make up for the small number of players. There's a runout appeal, which turns into a heated argument. Suddenly, the bowler gets a brainwave. "Let's ask SP! He never lies!" and they corner me. I sheepishly admit that it looked to me like he was out, and I was standing quite close by. The batsman involved in the appeal was a key player, and my captain takes me aside and tells me, "Dude. When such things happen, just say you don't know and you're not sure. Got it?"

- A class is on, and our teacher gives us some work to do, with strict instructions to be quiet. The guy sitting in the bench next to me gets into an animated discussion with someone else, and our teacher calls his name and asks him what's going on. He explains that he was just in the process of borrowing a pencil. When the class got over, I had a word with him. "How can you tell a barefaced lie like that to an elder?" God, I was such a self-righteous prig at that age. To the guy's credit, he didn't think any less of me for that, and in fact tried to keep my company more often in the hope that some of my influence rubbed off on him.

I grew up. But even now, in a casual conversation with a stranger, or even with myself on my blog, if I am to hide things I need to consciously expend some effort to consider every word before I say it, or I'll be quickly telling you every naked fact about my life. Er... like I'm doing now :). What is the point in being anonymous if I can't do a good job of it? So I don't.

On the down side, because I'm not anonymous myself, I don't respect other people's anonymity as much as I should. Only in the sense that I ask people who they are, or try to find out for myself. I mean, I know it's harmless, even if they don't. Well... Mostly Harmless, if I may quote Douglas Adams. Of course, the real crime is that this means I deliberately encroach upon the privacy of someone else, which is a fundamental right by any constitution. There was one incident when I googled out the full name of an online friend from stuff I knew about her, and then told her. Actually, I did something worse after that, which I'd rather not get into. She was livid for a while and actually deleted her blog for a few days. Fortunately, she forgave me completely over time and is a very good friend of mine today. That shows class, of a sort I can never hope to match.

There, I've said too much again. Somebody gag me!

Cheers,
Prashanth.

And let the words flow!

Calvin: You can't just turn on creativity like a faucet. You have to be in the right mood.
Hobbes: And what mood is that?
Calvin: Last-minute panic.

English exams included, I can well commisserate with Calvin. I can't count the number of times I needed to write an article for something, but the words just wouldn't flow. And yet, I was always (and still am) capable of coming up with something, and people would even like it. It's never hard to write with good technique, once the basics have been drummed into you through practice. This includes everything from poetry to short fiction. But it's not often that one comes up with something truly creative, something with soul. That inevitably requires inspiration.

I haven't yet found anyone sufficiently interested in my style of writing to read and critique all my poems, but if I ever do, I would like to ask one question: can you identify which poems I wrote because I was told to (or told myself to), and which poems flowed automatically? I've been writing poems since fourth grade, some good, some bad, some ugly; but the good ones generally write themselves. From high school, I started saving my poems and they're all up on my poetry blog; some thirty-odd poems so far. I often change my judgements on my own writing as my personal taste evolves; but the really good ones, written in true moments of inspiration are always clear winners.

I ran a little experiment this week, seeing as I've run into a bad case of poet's block and haven't written a poem since last december. I told myself to write two poems, on something, anything. No arguments. And I came up with these: Have Faith and The Slightest Excuse. I invite my readers, especially poetry enthusiasts, to render their judgements... no mercy asked!

And yet... no matter how much I complain that my poems are not that good when I coerce myself into writing, it's even worse if I simply sit still and not write. Going poem-less for seven months frayed my nerves. Now I'm almost feeling like myself again :)

Cheers,
Prashanth.

Just when I thought my life was boring...

This happened last week as I was taking the bus to campus, an inherently boring and quite routine thing I do in my life. But this time, there was something different. A female voice beside me asked, "Are you Prashanth?"

Now, I don't want to call her Mystery Girl. That sounds too cliched. So let's call her Girl With Cute Accent. GWCA for short. The conversation went something like this:

GWCA: Are you Prashanth?

Me: (a little off-guard) Yes...?

GWCA: (shyly - I swear) I've read your blog.

(Well, it sounded more like "blawg", but as mentioned already, accent was cute, so I didn't mind one bit.)

Me: (at a loss for words) (must've had my mouth open for a second or two) How did you know it was me?

GWCA: (shrugs) Must've seen your photograph somewhere.

Me: (completely baffled as to how that could have happened) Er... hmmmm... and you are?

(For anonymity's sake we'll skip a part of the story. But I'm a vain guy, and I was curious about one thing...)

Me: What did you think of my blog?

GWCA: (a little too quickly) It was interesting.

(Now, if there's one thing I can count on in my life, it's Murphy's Law of Single Men: All the cute women you meet never find anything interesting about you. Not even something as insignificant as your blog. So, naturally I was a bit suspicious.)

Me: (with raised eyebrow) You're just being polite.

GWCA: (with a mischevious twinkle in her eye) Yes.

(Damn, couldn't she have continued being polite a little longer?)

GWCA: Did you know you're famous?

(Here I almost fell off the seat before I realized that the mischevious glint was still there. O-K-A-Y. Sarcasm, the most abundant entity in this world. I guess I can live with it.)

I guess girls can never change one basic aspect of their character: they are wicked. It's just the way God made them. But, as with a lot of other things in this world, I can live with that. Anyway, as it turns out, the girl lives in the same apartment complex as I, and takes the same bus route everyday as I. She was surprised that she hadn't noticed me the whole of last year, or she would have said hello earlier. No surprise for me. When was the last time any girl had noticed me for any reason?

Well, at least the incident broke the monotony of my life for a while. To GWCA and all the people who read my inane little ramblings: thank you and keep visiting!

Cheers,
Prashanth.

Watch your diet. Sigh.

I know I'm incorrigible, but now I also know I'm stupid. My mom is an expert nutritionist and cook, and I have a lifetime of health tips embedded in this brain... and yet I generally don't follow them. Now I've finally landed up with health problems thanks to my negligence. Double sigh. If you are a young adult living away from family, I offer the following points of advice. I'm witness to the fact that evading them can have bad consequences.

:) Eat meals at regular times. The body has a rhythm. Stick to it!
:( I postpone or skip meals with little provocation... work, or a superb novel, or plain laziness to cook.

:) Have three square meals a day. Don't skip breakfast! By definition, you are breaking your fast after not eating for nearly twelve hours since the previous night's dinner. That makes breakfast the most important meal of the day.
:( I have breakfast when it is convenient. Which is on an average, twice or three times a week for the past 5 years.

:) Include milk, and curds or yoghurt in your regular diet, unless you have a lactose intolerance medical condition. Irrespective of age.
:( I became irregular in having milk (in the form of coffee/tea/cocoa/whatever) over the years. After coming to the US, I've become irregular in having curds/yoghurt as well.

:) Avoid fast food and junk food. They are highly unbalanced in nutritive content.... high fat, high sodium, high cholesterol, high carbs, low in essential amino acids and proteins and minerals. Think of them as recipes for disaster.
:( How can I live in the US without pizza or burgers or potato chips?

:) Have fruit juices of different types. Avoid sodas. Sodas are essentially composed of phosphoric acid, carbonic acid, artificial flavours, artificial preservatives, artificial colouring and sugar. Which part of that is good for you?
:( I almost always wash down my fast food with sodas!

:) The strength of your immune system is closely connected to your diet. If you get all your vitamins and minerals and have a balanced diet, you're less likely to get a sore throat after eating that ice cream or a cold after getting wet in the rain, so on and so forth.
:( I know my diet is not balanced. Help!

I could write a lot more, but I'm not in the best of health and I'm tired. I guess what I'm trying to say is, take care of your health, friend.

Cheers,
Prashanth.

A Short Story

"Hello."

"Hey there. Aren't you at work yet?"

"Nope, I'm still in my car. You know me."

"Ah yes, of course. Five minutes late to class, five minutes late to the movie, five minutes late for play. No reason why you shouldn't be five minutes late to work as well!"

I heard the familiar chuckle, with genuine warmth in it. "So why isn't Miss Punctuality at work yet?" I riposted.

"I ... took the day off."

A few more minutes of idle conversation. As was the case often, I could sense an aura of depression behind her tone. But our unwritten rule was to not talk about painful topics. "Why spoil a rare good mood by talking about the bad? " she would say, "Leave it be." It was the same when we were friends in school. It was the same when our academic careers diverged, and we stayed in touch by phone. It was the same when we went on with our separate married and professional lives, but never went without talking longer than a month. It was just the way she was.

"Thank you," she said suddenly and unexpectedly, "Thank you for being the one constant good thing in my life."

I was moved. "Why do you persist with things that don't work out?" I said impulsively, "Change your life. Start over. Get a divorce."

"Please. I don't want to talk about it."

Silence.

"Goodbye," she said, with unusual tenderness.

"Goodbye."

I shut the phone and frowned. It was unusual for her to call at this time of the morning; she always called in the evenings, when she knew she wouldn't be disturbing me at work and we would have more time to talk. And there was something about the inflection of the Goodbye, and the unexpected Thank you...

My heart was suddenly seized with dread and I floored the gas pedal.


I rang the bell, and tried the door when there was no answer. It opened noiselessly.

Slit wrists. A pool of blood on the floor.

I gasped in shock and dialled 911. I was composed as I explained the situation, but my hands shook when I felt her neck for a pulse.

I sat on my knees and bowed my head as my tears mingled with the blood on the floor. I already knew... I was five minutes too late.

Me? Weird?

I've been tagged by DiTtY. I don't often respond to tags but this one seems harmless enough... I'm supposed to talk about my "weird characteristics". Should be easy, considering I have few normal characteristics :)

- I'm an indoors guy. Everything I do, from work to play, is done indoors. Not that I hate the outdoors or anything, I'm just complacent enough to do everything indoors and lazy enough to not want exercise.

- I don't know how to say NO. If you ask nice, I'll cave in like a chocolate cake. As long as I don't have to do anything that offends my principles, I'll help you out with anything, almost.

- I cannot haggle with auto rickshaw drivers. I'd rather pay the extra five rupees and save myself the trouble. Come to think of it, I can't bargain with anybody. Not shopkeepers, not friends, not anybody.

- I can sleep with the lights on and my roommates playing rock music in the next room. I can read with the TV on and people talking in the same room. Heck, I can study/work with practically any visual or audio distraction. You can't sway my concentration easily.

- Alas, that cuts both ways. I choose not to concentrate on mundane things, making me very forgetful. Did I not tell you about the time I walked into a wall?

- I have to read. Something. Anything. I need a book a week, minimum, or I'll get withdrawal symptoms.

- I have a wicked way of putting off chirpy relatives when I'm in a less tolerant state of mind. I talk and explain things in a roundabout and technical fashion, that they wish they'd never brought up whatever it was they brought up. Unfortunately it became so much of a habit that I talk the same way almost all the time now!

- I'm a feminist. There, beat that!

Cheers,
Prashanth.

Are you on good terms with the Gods?

The Sri Venkateshwara Temple at Pittsburgh... the only temple within driving distance of me in this nook of the US. I visited it twice in the last two weeks, and like old times, I found myself alone and unhurried.

I'm essentially an agnost, yet I love the serene atmosphere of temples. I find it soothing and cleansing, sitting amidst the smell of thirtham, incense, vibhoodhi, and kumkum... and the sounds of chanting. People say agnosts are just ignorant or cowardly atheists, but nothing can be farther from the truth. My beliefs are too complex to fit within the categories of atheist and theist. The closest word that fits is agnostic.

In spite of not being a believer, it has always seemed to me that somebody up there has been watching over me, protecting me from the impact of my numerous follies. To that my Mom would say God does not care if you believe in him or not, as long as you are good. I would say (in a half-hearted parry), maybe it's just luck. To that, fellow blogger Kirthi would say that inherent abilities like systematicity help in getting favourable results in life, and since the innumerable little factors are not tangible, they get ascribed to luck. And that's even harder for me to believe. Easier to think that I'm on good terms with the Gods, if there are any; and if not, well, then it's luck!

So I pondered, thinking about my fortunes in the last few years. And came to the conclusion that I fully deserved my rewards and my punishments. Life does have a sense of justice... well, mine does, at least!

I told the priest my Gothram and Nakshathram, with a little hesitation because it's been so long since I enunciated those words myself. I took comfort in the rituals and prayer, as they are meant to; yet I do not share my Mom's fatalism. Prayer eases the mind, but it cannot get things done for you, even there is a God. Theists say it can guide, even if it cannot do. But even for that to happen, we come back to the question...

Are you on good terms with the Gods?

Cheers,
Prashanth.

Bridge Mania hits Chicago

The 2006 Summer North American Bridge Championships are going on here at Chicago... I flew all the way to play for a few days. All right, I'm a bridge chump, not a champ, but I really wanted to play, so I did. And what a week it's been! For the past six days, I've been sleeping 6-7 hours per night and playing bridge 11-12 hours per day. I'm currently in that sweet state of satisfied intellectual exhaustion that comes with over-exerting one's brain cells. In other words, I'm ready to drop to the ground and ask someone to wake me up when September ends.

The American Contract Bridge League reports that about 6000 people are playing this time. So, at particular times of the day between bridge sessions, the cafeterias in the Chicago Downtown area get overrun by bridge buffs arguing and discussing the hands. Any random spot we chose for getting something to eat or drink, we would see people with bidding convention cards in their pockets, game records in their hands and the occasional pencil tucked behind a ear. I must have worn a manic grin on my face whenever someone said something loud enough for me to pick up, for I've been out of place for long as one of the few bridge enthusiasts around no matter where I go. That's the nice thing about our world, isn't it? Somehow, somewhere you're bound to find like-minded people.

The thing I liked best about the week was the fact that we got our asses kicked whenever we ventured to play in the more serious events. I never forget a strategy, especially when I'm at the receiving end, so that's a lot of arsenal for *my* future perusal. Of course, it gets depressing after a while, so we played in some of the easier fields in between to rack up some points and more importantly, some self-esteem :)

I also managed to do a bit of sightseeing, thanks to our good friend Intern who was nice enough to show me around for a day. Chicago is a really nice city, especially the area where I was staying - near Grant Park, adjoining Lake Michigan. Our other good friend Ramani put up with me .. er... put me up for the week. Cool breeze, fresh air, greenery, good music almost every evening with free concerts at Millenium Park a short walk away. I should also mention, accessibility to all the "happening" joints in downtown chicago, shopping, restaurants, as well as transportation - for the record. For me, that was all just icing on the bridge cake. I'll put up some pictures after I get home and process them.

Incidentally, I turn 23 this week. Birthdays are so depressing. Either you realize how young you are as opposed to how old you feel, or you realize how old you are and wish for the the good ol' days. Equally depressing is the realization that I have a lot of work to do to make up for taking off for so long. Or maybe all the depression is just because of the realization that my fantastic week has come to an end.

Cheers,

Prashanth.

"Selective" Concentration

The part I hate about traveling is the packing and unpacking. Especially packing, since I almost always forget something. Never the essentials: I always remember to take some reading material with me, generally in the form of fantasy novels. But non-essential paraphernalia are a different matter altogether. Like bus/train/flight tickets. Or my toothbrush.

I'm not exactly an unsystematic and unfocussed individual for such things to happen. Quite the opposite, in fact. I can study quite well, even with the TV showing a cricket match and the music system playing rock music in the background at the same time. I can sleep with the light on. If I set my mind on something, I do it correctly, methodically and without distraction.

Perhaps a little too well for my own good. I vividly recall an incident when I was in fifth grade (or thereabouts), when my Mom had to treat a lump on my head and she asked me how I injured myself. I told her earnestly and truthfully that I'd been solving a math problem in my head and walked into a wall. She and my brother laughed for days at my expense. Grrrr.

There was one time when I was with some friends and teachers from school, doing some sightseeing in Singapore while we could take time off from the contest we'd gone there for. I was pondering some obscure piece of philosophy and stopped to tie my shoelaces. When I stood up, the rest of the group were nowhere to be seen! We re-united after the lights came back on (we had gone to watch the musical fountain), but people kept shaking their heads at me. Yet another time, in Disneyland with my family, I forgot where we were supposed to meet and started wandering aimlessly. I finally found them after twenty minutes, sitting quietly at the point from where I'd started my wandering. Harumph.

It hasn't gotten any better over the years. Just last week I went to watch the new Superman movie with my t-shirt on frontside-back. I realized it only on the way back. Out of politeness or amusement (I suspect the latter), nobody had pointed it out to me.

No wonder then, my cousins have always regarded me as the absent-minded professor of the family. I take umbrage at being called absent-minded, for what my indignation is worth. I prefer the more politically correct term of Selective Concentration. I manage just fine with things I consider important at any given moment of time, and choose to concentrate upon!

Why this post now? I've been traveling, and am at Pittsburgh at the moment.... and I didn't forget to pack a single item. I'm rather proud of myself :)

Or at least, I like to think so until I finish unpacking....

Cheers,
Prashanth.

Of Work, Life and Opportunities

When I was nineteen, I did an internship at a car factory on the outskirts of Madras. It took two hours just to go there, and even longer to come back because of traffic in the evenings. This compounded the already incredible working hours, for the day started at 6:45 am and ended at 5:30 pm, even longer sometimes depending upon work. In other words, I had to wake up at 4:00 am, catch the bus at 4:45 am and I'd be back at around 7:45 pm. That left just enough time to have supper, rest awhile and crash into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.

That was when I started having things with caffeine in them, after an embarrassing incident of me dozing off in a little conference room while waiting for my boss. Before that, I could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times I had tea or coffee. But I digress. The situation of the regular employees was worse than me, for they generally had to stay longer, and work six to six and a half days per week. In a factory that runs almost 24 x 7 to meet worldwide demand, there is no rest for anyone. There was one curious incident when I saw one employee being met by two women at the bus stop for five minutes worth of conversation - at 4:45 am! When I enquired, discreetly and indirectly, what was going on, I was informed that those were his sister and fiance, and that his fiance had wanted to see him on a weekday, for they only got to meet on sundays usually!

Now, my work rarely required me to step outside the air-conditioned office. Even the daily walk to the cafeteria for lunch made me wince, for the blazing summer sun can suck the moisture out of you very soon. But now and then, it was necessary to go outside. Like the time when PDI (Pre-Delivery Inspection) reported a couple of recurring faults and it was the job of QC (Quality Control), where I was placed, to fix it before the cars went that far. This meant that a bunch of people in the department, me included, had to rush to the yard, inspect and mark the hundreds of cars that were parked and ready to be sent to PDI. It was hot, dusty work, and my upbringing has been such that I'm unused to physical labour of any sort. One of my hostel pals, a perpetually enthusiastic Oriya who was also doing the internship, jibed about it good-naturedly when he saw fatigue writ large on my face. When we returned to the office, I got into a conversation with one of the junior employees who I'd gotten to know a bit, and who'd been out there with us in the yard that day. I asked him how he coped with the long hours and the hard work. I'll never forget the expression on his face as he answered me.

If you know how to look, you can see the signs of past trials on a man's face. The eyes, in particular, are a give-away. I was young then, and I did not know how to look. But at that moment of vulnerability, even I could see it. The soft answer was, "It's honest work, and we need the money. Before this job, I had nothing. Now I have a chance."

All of a sudden, it was as though the proverbial Doors of Perception had been opened. In spite of my sheltered upbringing, I understood then how it felt to start with nothing and work and struggle your way up to a decent standard of living. I could taste the man's sorrow, dejection, frustration, hope, determination and salvation. I knew the meaning of hard work, its necessity and its power.

I didn't have to ask anything more about his past, or his hopes for his future. I didn't have to check if there were others in the same room with similar pasts and hopes. It didn't matter. I knew.

That was how I realized that simply by virtue of where I was born, life has given me chances and opportunities that many people would kill for. If someone didn't clear that tough examination, it need not be because he's not smart enough. If someone didn't climb that corporate ladder, it need not be because he's not hard working enough.

I am glad that I have seized most of the chances that have come my way, and made good of most of the opportunities. To not do so would be an insult to those who did not have those chances, as much as it would be an insult to my parents who gave given me those chances.

Work hard, and seize the opportunities life presents. You're lucky, you just may not know it yet.

Cheers,
Prashanth.

Does a gloomy, rainy day make you want to....

... throw yourself off the top floor of your building?

The weather here this past week has been mostly grey, overcast and rainy. My friend was complaining about the weather while she was driving, and I was nodding away semi-attentively. And then she said something that made me sit up. She said that the suicide rate in Seattle, WA is one of the highest in the US, and that the city also happens to have rainy weather for most of the year. Apparently, the weather was so depressing that people wanted to kill themselves!

I haven't checked the veracity of either statement about Seattle, nor have I tried to find out if there exists a correlation between weather and suicide statistics. But despite the morbidity of her statement, I found myself interested in and amused by it. I asked myself, how would I feel if I looked out the window and found it raining most of the time?

The first thing I thought was that we grad students are indoors, in our labs or apartments so much that it hardly matters how the weather is outside! Then I forced myself to treat the question more seriously, and the answer was surprising. I would love it if it rained everyday! I like the smell of rain, wet grass and damp earth. I like the pitter-patter of raindrops. Rain whets the creative part of my brain, makes want to write poems and listen to music. If I knew any musical instrument, I bet I would whip it out on a rainy day!

If you are reading this, I want you to drop a comment and say: how would you feel if you looked out the window and found it raining all or most of the time?

Cheers,
Prashanth.

The week gone by...

Pay it forward

Channel surfing does pay off now and then: this movie starring Haley Joel Osment, Helen Hunt and Kevin Spacey is one of my all-time favourites and I was happy to watch it again after all these years. "Pay it Forward" is Haley's submission for his social studies homework: think of one thing you can do to make the world a better place. The idea is that each person does three "favours". Each favour has to be something huge, something extremely difficult, even painful for you to do; but it must go a long way in helping another person. In return, you ask that person to do three more such favours, to other people. If things go right, you ought to have a chain reaction of people helping people, and the world will be a much better place.

I'll not go into the details of the plot itself, but I highly recommend this movie to anyone who hasn't seen it yet. Haley's acting is brilliant, and I miss the kid's presence on the big screen.

Face your enemy

Aeons ago, my teachers called me a math prodigy. However, from high school onward, I slipped slowly to average and even lower than that. I know for a fact that I had poor math teachers, but I'm sure a good percentage of the blame lies with me. Over the years, I've come to think of mathematics as my enemy, and I've tended to perform poorly in courses that are heavy on math content. Anyway, the time for reparation has come. My research requires that I be a math genius all over again, and all my courses next semester are geared toward restoring my math skills. I haven't a prayer of keeping my 4 point GPA after this, but what needs to be done has to be done.

Playing in the big leagues

I've been assisting my advisor in writing a project proposal this week, and although I was given some rough instructions, guidance and feedback, I essentially had to do the research and write the proposal myself. I had been under the impression my advisor would draw upon his vast experience and rewrite the document, using my research for the "meat". Imagine my surprise when the final draft was 95% the same as what I'd written. My friends asked me why I was surprised, for grad students are the ones who are supposed to do the research and write such proposals, and often the final draft is 100% the same as the one submitted by the student. I shook my head and told them that I couldn't believe that the proposal for a several hundred thousand dollar grant for work in a cutting edge research area had been written by inexperienced li'l me. It's going to take some getting used to, playing in the big leagues with minimal supervision. In a few years' time, the work I do might be instrumental in saving lives around the world. How's that for work pressure?

Of good books and bad books

Being in the bad books (and I mean extremely bad) of important people in my life is no fun. Sometimes it is for standing up to what I believe is the right thing. Sometimes it is inexperience, lack of concentration, or plain human error. Either way, the seriousness of the repercussions, real and possible, staggers me numb. Adult life sucks. I wish the only books I'd have to worry about are the novels I borrow from the public library, but life has other ideas. I know, I'm twenty three and I have to face these things like a man. But why does it have to be so hard?

Cheers,
Prashanth.

Soccer fever hits everyone but me...

No, I'm not exactly working hard either. I'm playing computer games but if someone asks me why he hasn't seen me lately, I blame it on soccer :P

The Elements of Style

Towards the end of my last semester, I had to write and submit several project reports in record time, thanks to my procrastination. Unintentionally, I'd slipped into the informal language that I would use, for example, in this blog, rather than the formal and correct usage that is expected in such reports. That earned me a mild rebuke from my advisor, who was subjected to two of those reports, and knew that he would have to read several more by the time I finished my Ph.D. So he asked me to read the book, The Elements of Style, by William Strunck Jr. and E.B. White.

It turned out to be a rather interesting guide to correct writing, albeit in an annoyingly didactic, almost supercilious tone. It is an old book, and any authors who are still alive must be squirming on seeing what the english language has degenerated to. Consider, for example:

... Omit needless words. "The fact that" is an especially debilitating expression. It should be revised out of every sentence it occurs.

... Do not attempt to emphasize simple statements by a mark of exclamation. The exclamation mark is reserved for true exclamations and commands, such as "What a wonderful show!" and "Halt!"

... "as to whether". "Whether" is sufficient.

... "regarded as being...". Not appropriate. Simply say, "regarded as.."

... "Certainly". Used indiscriminately by some speakers, much as others use very, in a attempt to intensify any and every statement. A mannerism of this kind, bad in speech, is worse in writing.

... "character". Often simply redundant, used from a mere habit of wordiness. "hostile act" is equivalent to "an act of hostile character"


and so on and so forth. The acerbic manner of meting out this wisdom nearly led to my abandoning the book half-way through, and I would have if not for two things: the advice was sensible, and it was punctuated by a dry wit that reminded me of a close IIT friend who is now in IIMA. For instance,

... The hyphen can play tricks on the unwary, as it did in Chattanooga when two newspapers merged - the News and the Free Press. Someone introduced a hyphen into the merger, and the paper became The Chattanooga News-Free Press.

... The word people is best not used with words of number, in place of persons. If of "six people" five went away, how many people would be left? One people?


So, after a day of getting discombobulated about the placement of commas and hyphens, the use of colons and semi-colons, the consistency of voice and tense, the identification of unnecessary and pretentious words and phrases, and a million other things, I'm living in fear of the acidic tongue - or pen - of William Strunck Jr. If it improves my writing skills, I guess it is a fair trade!

Cheers,
Prashanth.

Reductionist is passé

Caution: Mild geek content

A lazy weekend afternoon at home. I'm watching TV with a roommate and he makes a comment on seeing yet another ad for a low-calorie food product, "The American view on diet is so f***ed up, man."

I smile, and taking one feather from my own cap and one from my Mom's, I dive into an explanation of how the American ideas on diet are reductionist in nature as opposed to the traditional Indian view. We never said ghee is bad for health just because it has hydrogenated fat; we know that there is little harm in having some ghee with rice as long as vegetables and pulses form the greater proportion. I stopped myself in the middle of a sentence when I realized that I was lecturing - I seem to be doing a lot these days. Perhaps this PhD is turning me into a professor, whether I want to be one or not!

But the funny thing is that I'd never voiced that particular point of view before; so where did it come from? The answer: my research. I think I started seeing the distinction between Reductionist and Holistic more clearly after I read a book on Chaos theory.

Chaos theory attempts to explain things where conventional science fails. It says that there are some systems where the equations or rules simply cannot be solved because of the interdependencies; and they cannot be simulated beyond a point because they are extremely sensitive to the variables. There is a famous story in which Edward Lorenz was simulating a weather system, and noticed a re-run of the simulation diverging completely from the original run even though it was the same system with the same initial conditions. So, he re-checked the initial conditions and realized that he'd rounded the floating point decimals down to a precision of six (I think) digits. Essentially, a difference of 0.000001 had yielded a completely different result after just a few iterations!

Think about the fact that in real life, there could be a million different external or internal perturbations on a variable, not to mention the difficulty in measuring values accurately beyond a certain point. Chaos theory accepts the infeasibility of studying such systems in the reductionist manner, and instead tries to identify patterns. Today there is quite a bit of formal mathematics involved, but initially, chaos theorists were looked upon as quacks.

My next leap in understanding came when I studied complex networks. This is the science of naturally evolved, large scale networks in a plethora of fields, covering everything from Social Networks to The Internet to Cellular Biology. Why, if you consider co-stars in a movie as linked, then on considering all Hollywood movies ever made, you will come up with a huge actor collaboration network. The science of complex networks identifies amazing similarities in all these networks, and the fact that such a complicated interaction network can yield results that are extremely counter-intuitive. Again, you cannot simply break down the system to the individual parts and rules and expect to easily predict the behavior of the system. With a multi-layered, large-scale network, taking the reductionist approach is but the first step in understanding the system.

Systems Biology is the science of life studied in a holistic manner. As one scientist put it, we are trying to put Humpty Dumpty back together again. We have decoded the entire human genome; yet, we are far away from understanding how the same genes work together to create proteins, which work together to regulate individual biological processes, which work together to "run" a living organism. The same kind of problem is being faced in many, many other fields.

Chaos theory and non-linear dynamics, complex networks and systems engineering; these are are all interconnected fields that try to understand things - and perhaps build systems, with their inspiration - from a holistic viewpoint. These are the new challenges in Science; Reductionism is almost passé, and is increasingly being thought of as the first step in a long process. It is extremely humbling - and interesting - for a scientist to study and understand such complexity in nature. Our ancestors were nearly as good at it as we are now!

Watch your diet,
Cheers,
Prashanth.

Postscript: I made a start to the Science Blog that I was talking about, but decided that I would just include a few semi-scientific posts in this blog. This is one of them.

Play to Win

Yet another evening at the Bridge Club. I take my seat at a table where a conversation is already in progress. One guy - who I think of as the comedian of our club - marks my entrance with one of his trademark, grand sweeping statements: "...but Prashanth, he plays to win!" Much amused, I comment, "Of course! Don't we all?" Judging by the expressions around the table, it was the wrong answer.

Now, there happen to be a lot of people at our club who have far more playing experience than me; and yet, they do not bother to learn or play complicated partnership conventions; they do not make or figure out deceptive plays; they do not read advanced playing tips from books. But for me, those things are like bread and butter, for without them, you will remain at best an average player even if your basic technique is sound. I do play to win. And not just in bridge. It's an in-built urge to be competitive and be a winner; be it academics or games.

But many people just play to have fun, and it doesn't matter whether they win or lose. I wish I could be that way; but I wince every time I make a mistake, and I feel a little unhappy if I lose badly. Yet, I still wear my smile, because I know I just learnt one more lesson! I adore my partners who explain my mistakes and teach me the way to avoid them; but they are not as well-liked by others, for I've heard statements like a rueful "He lectures!" or a semi-jesting "He's a meanie!"

The interesting trend I noticed here is that the younger (relatively speaking: people in their fifties come under this category in bridge!) people are more competitive than the older players. Perhaps this is a sign of things to come. Everybody wants to win these days. And yet, I do not see it as a bad thing. To not strive to do better is to be less than human, in my opinion.

I'm sure there is a line somewhere that separates the competitive from the over-competitive. But many people draw it at the wrong place. "Being competitive" is no excuse for a transgression of ethics; but "Being over-competitive" is no excuse for mediocrity.

Cheers,
Prashanth.