Joie de Vivre

Flight of Fancy

2011-12-31T06:43:00.001-05:00

I slid down that rabbit hole
In quest of Wonderland.
The glint of malice
In the eyes of Alice
Sent matters out of hand.

I soared over the Nimbus clouds
Knockin' on heaven's door.
But Zeus's thunder
Portended plunder.
Soon havoc was galore.

I strolled past the Redwood trees.
As I neared the Bay (alas!),
The Golden Gate
Was rudely irate
And refused to let me pass.

Restless I am in captivity.
Sleepless is the night.
But every yawn
Is a step closer to dawn
As I eagerly wait to take flight.

(A largely literal account on the travails of East to West Coast travel with minor poetic liberties)

Mystery, Mayhem, and Murder

2011-12-18T15:35:00.000-05:00

Nothing adds more zest to a reading list like a mystery novel. And so, in way of keeping up with the holiday fervor, my reading theme this season is Mystery, Mayhem, and Murder! The books I picked are: The Sherlockian (which I stumbled upon at the Strand Bookstore, NYC, and thought was a must-read), The Dante Club (a half-historical/half-fictional account about a series of brutal murders in 19th century Boston), and Death Comes to Pemberley (a recently released, bestselling Pride and Prejudice sequel). These books have an interesting commonality: they involve characters from literary classics and/or their creators. While I have tried my best to avoid major spoilers, I will be commenting on the general structure of each novel. So, beware!

The Sherlockian By Graham Moore

Near the close of the 19th century, Arthur Conan Doyle tossed Sherlock Holmes over Reichenbach Falls bringing an abrupt end to his greatest creation and the world's favorite detective. Of his myriads of fans, some were disappointed, some riled, and many hysterical in mourning. Close to 8 years passed till he (rather suddenly) decided to resurrect his hero, a period which, in Sherlockian nomenclature, is referred to as the Great Hiatus. While no one knows what exactly prompted the resurrection, the inability to trace one of Conan Doyle's journals from this time has rattled many minds over the decades. In 2004, Richard Green, a renowned Sherlockian (an expert on Conan Doyle and Holmes), made the stirring announcement of having recovered this Holy Grail of a missing diary, an event soon to be followed by the shocking discovery of his strangled corpse. These clips from recent and not-so-recent history have inspired the making of The Sherlockian, a fascinating blend of fact and fiction that weaves two parallel and alternating story lines, one situated in the past and the other in the present, and cleverly ties them together in the end. One of these follows Conan Doyle through the Great Hiatus. The second pursues Harold White, the youngest member of the Baker Street Irregulars, as he embarks upon a quest for the missing diary in the aftermath of the murder of its discoverer Alex Cale. Conan Doyle and Harold both find themselves in dire need for translating Holmes' deductive acumen to solve real life mysteries. While Conan Doyle finds his Watson in Bram Stoker (of Count Dracula fame), Harold finds his in a charmingly feisty young lady about whom he knows precious little, certainly not enough to trust her! The two adventures are simultaneously concluded after an intriguing series of developments. At the end of the novel, the author provides a stimulating note that corroborates factual accuracy of several building blocks of the intricate plot, some of which I would have otherwise assumed to be pure fiction. Overall, this is a well-researched and well-plotted novel that makes a light and engaging read.

The Dante Club By Matthew Pearl

"Boston, 1865. A series of murders, all of them inspired by scenes in Dante’s Inferno. Only an elite group of America’s first Dante scholars—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Oliver Wendell Holmes, James Russell Lowell, and J. T. Fields—can solve the mystery. With the police baffled, more lives endangered, and Dante’s literary future at stake, the Dante Club must shed its sheltered literary existence and find the killer."—the back cover sums it up rather nicely. But some historical background is required here. While the murders are fictional, several of the characters in the book, including Longfellow, Holmes, Lowell, and Fields of course, were real. So was the Dante club. This group was convened to aid Longfellow in completing the first American translation of Dante Alighieri's epic poem Divine Comedy from Italian. The efforts were met with aggression owing to the classical obsession of the literary community of the time and their consequent protectionism toward Latin and Greek. The opening of the book is rather sensational with the gory visualization of the first murder and engages the reader almost instantly. Once the reader's attention is won, the author cleverly exploits this opportunity to feed the reader with a prodigious amount of information crucial for establishing the characters and the setting. This allows us to view the main characters (most of whom are celebrated poets of high literary stature) through near-vision goggles so that they appear as real people with individual quirks and idiosyncrasies. This initial strong connection with the characters proves to be critical and lasts through the length of the novel offering it much of its depth. The plot soon thickens as mayhem rocks the city, and the book becomes quite a page turner. A secondary theme (congruent with the novel's civil war setting) is the prevailing attitude toward African Americans as reflected by the numerous references to Thomas Sims and the Fugitive Slave Act and the compelling portrayal of the fictional character Detective Rey, a mulatto, or an individual of mixed racial descent. Impressive and solid underlying research, an intriguing plot, balanced pace, and beautiful language weaving the story line tightly make this book a phenomenal read. From a critical perspective, this is a piece of fiction that has the key literary elements (plot, character, setting, theme, style) executed with perfection. On a separate note, it was certainly fun to travel back in time and see what familiar locations in the city I live in today looked like some 146 years back.

Death Comes to Pemberley By P.D. James

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a modern sequel to a classical masterpiece must experience a multitude of encumbrances on its way to critical appreciation. Given the wide fan following of Austen's celebrated novel and of the author herself, there has been no dearth of undertakings which follow up on her well-plotted story lines or build up on her lifelike characters. And yet each attempt is received initially with breathless anticipation and eventually with ruthless criticism—either the modern language is dissonant with the classical setting or the author's frantic efforts to mimic Austen's style have fallen flat. And yet when I read NPR's "Pride and Prejudice meets Clue" portrayal of this particular sequel, I was pretty much sold. A murder mystery boasts its own set of charms and calls forth a completely different set of expectations. In this case, with the reputation of P. D. James as a murder mystery writer and my inability to imagine the voice of Austen narrating a gripping thriller, I was prepared for a departure from the classical style (you see I had earlier managed to survive several pages of Pride and Prejudice and Zombies). But I was mistaken. The style was rather sublime and the language polished with occasional long sentences and archaic wording that seemed to blend in well with the Regency era setting. The manner in which the familiar characters thought or reacted in new situations were aligned with my own perception of them and therefore felt convincing. I must say the opening of the book and the events leading up to and immediately following the murder were in particular quite a pleasure to read. What I had hoped for, after this point, was to see Darcy and Elizabeth out in the field doing some real detective work and to get a taste of early forensic science. What followed though was a realistic yet somewhat insipid portrayal of how Pemberley dealt with the social and familial repercussions of the disturbing event. I was relieved when the venue switched to the courtroom. But the most crushing disappointment for me was when, after patiently working through over two-thirds of the book, it dawned on me that there was not going to be any detection or mystery-solving anywhere in the book. There is a crime, there are unanswered questions, and there is an impeccable story line that explains it all. But an ending that unfolds on its own without making the characters (and the readers) sweat it out—where is the fun in that?

The Winter's Tale

2011-11-16T01:45:00.001-05:00

Gloomy winter. Sluggish day.
Book and blanket. Cold at bay.
I felt hints of ennui.
The wind tapped on the window pane.
Like caffeine molecules in the brain
It broke my reverie.

I emerged for an evening stroll.
Like an orange smear in a violet bowl
The horizon was aflame.
The lofty tree by the red brick house
Rustled its leaves, swayed its boughs,
And whispered out my name.

Such fondly wondrous tales it told
Lush, fragrant, with colors bold
Like a kaleidoscope.
As sunshine wrapt the city pale
In a gold-woven gossamer veil,
I saw a glimmer of hope.

My sunken spirits took a leap.
With intrepidity my heart did steep.
I was finally ready for this.
"Winter will be mesmerizing,"
I told myself romanticizing
The white, snowy bliss.

I felt a sudden surge - a spree -
An intense gush - of poesy
(What a charming season!)
When a sudden gust of the friendly breeze
Ushered in that pioneering sneeze.
(What a stolid act of treason!)

Kleenex tissue. Chicken soup.
Like a variable in an infinite loop,
The sneezing refused to pause.
Winter's beauty was promptly forgotten.
As I told myself "This season is rotten!"
And pointed out its flaws.

Back I am in my cozy nook.
Warm again, with blanket and book
As the nasty virus I fight.
Ruddy-nosed I curse the chill,
Reach out for another Benadryl
As doggerel verse I write!

¡Hola Valencia!

2011-10-30T00:24:00.000-04:00

The schedule was tight. The rain posed a formidable challenge. Yet, thankfully, I got to explore bits and pieces of this eponymous capital of the Spanish autonomous community of Valencia. The cityscape of Valencia is a strikingly unique blend of the past, the present, and the future. The architecture ranges from Gothic splendor to flamboyant postmodernism interspersed densely with mundane arrays of lackluster modern midrise apartment buildings.

The predominant language is Valencian, a local dialect of Catalan Spanish, recognized as a different language from Castilian Spanish, the latter being the official language of the Spanish state. Interestingly, while a majority of Spaniards would pronounce the name of the city (with a Castilian lisp) as baˈlenθja, Valencians call it vaˈlensia, which sounds closer to the English pronunciation.

When I reached the Old Quarter, the city was in the throes of a torrential downpour. I decided to continue on to see maritime Valencia and come back to the old town during the later part of the day.

View of the Old Quarter from the bus warped by refraction through rainwater pouring down the glass - pretty in its own way

The City of Arts and Sciences was the most fascinating part of Valencia for me. It is a complex with a glamorous, futuristic look designed by architects Santiago Calatrava and Félix Candela. It includes, among other fabulous buildings, an Imax movie theater in the shape of an eye, a museum of science resembling the skeleton of a whale, and the largest oceanographic aquarium in Europe, mimicking a water lily. Here are some not-so-beautiful captures from this site on a day when the sun seemed particularly cranky. I would recommend getting a better look from Google images.

Inside the City of Arts and Sciences

L'Àgora, an indoor plaza

Inside the Oceanogràfic. It is an open air park. The water lily shaped main building is visible in the background.

"Up above the world so high.. Twinkle twinkle little sharks."

Performers at the Dolphiarium. The show was SeaWorld-esque, except it had a splendid, dancing Spanish audience in accompaniment with great music. :-)

Beluga whale: beautiful and near threatened

The bus route was in parts adjacent to the verdant Jardín del Turia, which has an interesting story behind it: "After a catastrophic flood in 1957 which devastated the city of Valencia, the river was divided in two at the western city limits (Plan Sur de Valencia). The water has been diverted southwards along a new course that skirts the city, before meeting the Mediterranean. The old course of the river continues, dry, through the city centre, almost to the sea. The old riverbed is now a verdant sunken park that allows cyclists and pedestrians to traverse much of the city without the use of roads. The park, called the 'Garden of the Turia' (Jardí del Túria/Jardín del Turia) boasts numerous ponds, paths, fountains, flowers, football pitches, cafés, artworks, climbing walls, an athletics track, a zen garden and more.."

The greenery is a part of the Jardín del Turia adjoining the City of Arts and Sciences.

I then hopped on board a time machine a.k.a. the bus turístic and flew back in time to revisit the Old Quarter of this city that was founded as early as 137 BC. It continued drizzling as I strolled through the narrow alleys peeking from underneath my umbrella at some of the historic splendors.

Partial view of the Cathedral of Santa Maria de Valencia

Entrance to the cathedral

Inside the cathedral

Plaza de la Virgen

Plaza del Ayuntamiento

Inside an antique shop

The town hall at dusk

A lot of places remained unexplored. The photos could have been better. And communication, for the most part, was a battle I valiantly waged. Of course I learned more Spanish than I ever did in all my years of California. Given a chance, I would love to visit the Bioparc, the Umbracle, or the zero gravity room at the museum of science, which, unfortunately, was fully booked for the day I was there! Before I wrap up, I must mention I got to taste Valencian paella, with its traditional ingredients of chicken, vegetables, and rabbit meat. It was absolutely delightful as was every other part of this exciting trip.

New England Hues

2011-10-16T00:44:00.001-04:00

We set out to explore Mount Cardigan Saturday morning - just in time to catch the flaming hues of the New Hampshire foliage this season. The wet, wooded trail was gorgeously colorful. The 360° view from the bare, treeless summit was breathtaking. As we squelched our way to the open summit, the gusty wind picked up speed till it felt strong enough to blow us away. An approaching shower of rain appeared to close in on us. We took shelter underneath the fire tower on the summit. Even as we stood there trying to keep our camera lenses dry and our fingers from freezing, we saw one end of a rainbow emerge. The colors emboldened, and, once the skies cleared, we could see the complete bow clearly for a few moments. To our utter surprise, in some more time, we saws hints of a second bow: a double rainbow! Of course photos can never do justice. But here are some imperfect glimpses of this perfectly wonderful adventure!

The trail starts. The forest floor is seemingly strewn with candy bits.

The hues changed from red to yellow/orange as we climbed up.

We came across a number of brooks and cascades on our way. The trail was sylvan and scenic - mostly rocky and occasionally muddy (from recent bouts of rain).

View from near the summit: rural New Hampshire resplendent with bright colors of fall in the foreground and the White Mountains in the background

Bare granite on the way to the treeless summit. Most of the summit vegetation was destroyed in forest fires in 1855.

Alpine scrub and bright red berries on the granite

Suddenly the scene changes. The wind and rain swiftly close in on us.

A double rainbow emerges as the sky clears.

Toadstools on the way down

Colors and patterns - a log with with its spotted white bark wearing off, a textured rock face lined brightly with moss, and dry leaves (some bright red on one side and delightfully pink on the flip side) carpeting the forest floor. This happens to be one of my favorite captures.

Glass Magic

2011-05-23T22:30:00.000-04:00

I finally had an opportunity to view the extraordinary work of Dale Chihuly at the Museum of Fine Arts exhibition Through the Looking Glass. As expected, the pieces were spectacular. With the bright hues of glass, psychedelic lighting, and a rich diversity of ideas, it was a breathtaking experience.

This splendidly illuminated array of large glass flowers, which I put together into a panoramic shot, adorned the entrance to the exhibit:

The dark hall inside was aglow with a red chandelier that showed us the way to the magnificent Ikebana boat. When Chihuly was in Finland in 1995, in a moment of artistic whimsy, he once cast some of his glass artwork into the waters of a local river. While some local teenagers fished the glass pieces and loaded them onto their boats, Chihuly conceived the idea behind this masterpiece.

An assortment of baskets, woven or glass-blown, were on display next. The glistening, golden Tabac baskets, with the larger ones housing the littler ones, were so sheer and delicate, that I found them particularly fascinating.

The next exhibit, and probably the most beautiful one, was the Mille Fiori or the thousand flowers. Every one of those thousand flowers was gorgeous in its own unique way - radiant, curvaceous, and luxuriant, with its distinct texture and hue. I found myself going round and round the hall as every new location and every new angle was a fresh new treat to my eyes (and my camera).

Persian ceilings adorned the next room. Fascinating floral forms (rondels) with diverse shapes and colors smiled down upon us.

We then entered the hall with the chandeliers, ranging from 3 to 30 ft in height, some of them made up of as many as a thousand individual glass pieces!

In the next and final chamber, the lofty Neodymium reeds, resplendent in a ghostly shade of purple, emerged upright from a casually strewn collection of dull, lifeless logs. The reeds provided a perfect, psychedelic ending to a glorious adventure!

Blindness

2011-04-19T22:54:00.000-04:00

It's a new life here in Boston and a very exciting one too. Also, it turns out that the Kindle combined with a 30 min. daily commute (each way) on the subway makes an excellent recipe for reading. And thus my once favorite pastime drowned in the whirlpool of an engineering education finally found a chance to resurface. I inaugurated my reading renaissance with the novel Blindness by Nobel laureate Jose Saramago.

It was during my first visit to Brookline Booksmith (nothing like having a bookstore next door!) that I happened to flip through a Saramago novel. It was called The Elephant's Journey. As I was weaving through the second page of the book, I was interrupted by an unfamiliar voice.

"So, what do you think?"

I looked up. It was an elderly gentleman.

"It's weird." That was my first thought and also my reply. "There is hardly any punctuation anywhere. And there are no names either."

"Yeah, all his books are like that. It's a bit tricky initially, but you get used to it."

I read on. I liked his style. It was simple and clean - very different from novels where the plot gets lost under a pile of verbiage and detail. I decided to give his writing a shot. The elderly gentleman was right. You do get used to his style very quickly.

Blindness, at the outset, reminded me of Cormac McCarthy's The Road. In contrast with the post-apocalyptic setting of The Road, Blindness follows an imaginary epidemic from its very beginning. [Spoiler Alert] A highly contagious disease strikes a city and eventually the entire country. It is a strange form of blindness, in which everything looks white, not black. Realizing the gravity of the situation surrounding this seemingly incurable disease, the government promptly quarantines those infected. But the epidemic is unstoppable. And what happens to those quarantined? The novelist uses his imagination and presents to us a vivid narrative of what the blind internees experience as the situation deteriorates to the point of complete anarchy.

Everyone is faced with a helpless struggle for survival. Yet, people react in such different ways. On one end are the goons with firearms. Describing their absolute brutality the way the author did takes guts. I would rather not revisit or recollect the barbaric insanity. Moving on, there were those who were embittered by continued suffering, but yet managed to preserve a touch of humanity. An example would be the gruff and lonely old woman who ate hens and rabbits raw. Yet she surprised us in death, as her corpse was found clutching her keys in a way of passing them on to the girl with the dark glasses. The old lady knew the girl would come back there some day to look for those keys driven by her hope to get reunited with her parents. And, then there were the selfless ones who do not cease to amaze me. I was touched by the subtle details of how the young girl with the dark glasses played a maternal role for the little boy with the squint. It is remarkable considering she was just another young girl who had never been a mother or a wife. Of all the people, the doctor's wife was the only one who could see. Her vision was clearly not limited to her eyes. Her foresight and wisdom saved many.

In my opinion, an important aspect of the storyline is how humans, the social creatures that they are, survive better in groups. The first blind man, his wife, the doctor, the doctor's wife, the girl with the dark glasses, the boy with the squint, and the man with the black eye patch stayed united till the end. True, it was largely driven by their dependence on the pair of working eyes they had, which, given their situation, was an invaluable asset. Yet, their readiness to help each out sets them apart. Not that they had an easy escape from the tribulations. But the touch of humanity made a big difference to their emotional experience.

On the whole, it was a stimulating read. Given that the original book was in Portuguese, a significant part of the credit goes to the translator Giovanni Pontiero, who, unfortunately, passed away before completing the revision of the translation. Had the tone been a bit more cheerful, I could have read this book a second time. I will try reading some of Saramago's other works though. But, for the rest of this week, I will opt for some lighter reading. Time for some Wodehouse. :-)

The L.A. Sky

2010-09-29T23:43:00.000-04:00

Clicked during an uncommonly pleasant walk in the USC neighborhood.
(I wonder if it's raining somewhere far west.)

In the Land of the Rising Sun

2010-09-14T08:48:00.000-04:00

Aerial view of Mount Fuji:

Kinkaku-ji temple (the Golden Pavilion), Kyoto:

Nijo Castle, Kyoto:

Unforunately, cameras are not allowed here. This castle was abode to the Tokugawa shogun. I was most impressed by the concept of the "nightingale floors" here, which generate a pleasant squeaking sound when tread upon, however lightly, to protect the shogun from intruders.

Kasuga Grand Shrine, Nara:

This is a Shinto shrine, famous for the thousands of lanterns in its premises. These lanterns, lit daily in the ancient times, are now only lit during festive seasons twice a year.

Sake casks stacked near the Kasuga shrine:

Arrays of lanterns at the Kasuga shrine:

More lanterns:

Toda-ji temple, Nara:

This temple is a Zen Buddhist temple. Its Great Buddha Hall is the largest wooden building in the world and houses the world's largest bronze statue of the Buddha. This temple is a UNESCO World Heritage site.

The bronze Buddha:

Hungry deer inside the Toda-ji premises:

Hiroshima:

Nozomi Shinkansen:

Japan is famous for it's bullet trains. The Nozomi N700 series happen to be the fastest of this. This is the train I took from Kyoto to Hiroshima.

Hiroshima Castle, Hiroshima:

The A-Bomb Dome, Hiroshima, one of the few structures that survived the fateful bombing of the city:

Hiroshima before and after 8:15 A.M., August 6, 1945:

Paper cranes sent by kids all over the world in memory of Sadako (a little girl who was one of the many unfortunate victims of the lethal post-explosion radiation):

Miyajima:

This is a uniquely beautiful island near Hiroshima and is a UNESCO World Heritage site. It it home to the sacred Itsukushima shrine. It is particularly famous for its "floating" torii (a wooden gate leading to a Shinto shrine.) The highest point on this island is the peak of Mount Misen, which can be accessed via a ropeway, followed by a long and tedious hike.

The Itsukushima shrine torii that appears to be floating under high tide but can be reached on foot when the tide is low:

Itsukushima shrine:

The five-story pagoda near Itsukushima shrine:

A Shinto altar, where you offer money (through the wooden slots) and then clap to wake up the deity before you join hands and make a wish:

View from Mount Misen:

The actual view is simply ethereal and no camera can do justice to it. Uncountably many little islands are visible in the misty horizon. The mist makes it all the more surreal. Unfortunately, this is the best my Powershot could do.

The sun setting in the land of the rising sun:

The Story of King Tut

2010-08-18T03:43:00.000-04:00

I read a story today - a story far more enthralling than medical or forensic mysteries on TV. It's a true story - one based on real science! The protagonist was no other than the archeological marvel the great King Tut. King Tut or Tutankhamun is a familiar name to most of us. You may remember him from the story of Howard Carter's discovery his intact tomb in 1922, from the media-instigated folk-lores about the curse of his mummy, or from your middle school textbooks, where his name would have appeared alongside those of Akhenatun and Nefertiti.

Pharaoh Tutankhamun

Tut became king at the age of 9 and mysteriously died when he was 19. Our middle school history books tell us that he was somehow vaguely related to Amenhotep III, Akhenatun (Amenhotep IV), and Nefertiti (the beautiful wife of Akhenatun). Yet, from a variety of different sources I stumbled upon over the years, it appeared that Akhenatun could have been Tut's uncle, dad, or brother! A hailed pharaoh in his lifetime, King Tut was denounced as a heretic after his death and heir-less as he was, his legend was lost for millenia after his death in the obscurity of a shabby tomb.

King Tut's mummy being prepared for a CT scan

Thanks to the great leaps in medical imaging, a CT scan in 2005 revealed that a leg fracture could have been responsible for King Tut's death and, contrary to longheld belief, not a head blow. The story I read today is based on a follow-up study in February, 2010, by Egyptologist Zahi Hawass and others where they used DNA fingerprinting to reveal information about the lineage of the pharaoh and drew some exciting further conclusions about the cause of his premature death. Without further ado, I present to you the National Geographic article by Dr. Hawass, which reads like a splendidly written story:

King Tut’s Family Secrets

The study establishes that King Tut was the grandson of Amenhotep III. His father (identified as mummy KV55) was "almost certainly" identified as Akhenatun. It also showed (rather alarmingly) that Tut's mother (mummy KV35YL) was in fact the sister of KV55! In other words, the hailed pharaoh was a product of royal incest. Here's the full family tree:

King Tut's family tree

Further analysis of the 2005 CT data revealed a crippling bone disease in the pharaoh's foot, that may not on its own been fatal. King Tut has always been depicted as a pharaoh who remains seated or holds a cane. We now know that this "was not a king who held a staff just as a symbol of power. This was a young man who needed a cane to walk." Additionally, genetic evidence acquired in this study seemed to indicate that King Tut was infected with a malarial parasite, which could have been partially responsible for his death.

The king resting on a cane while attended by his wife Ankhensenamun

It is possible that royal culture of incest and inbreeding would have been responsible for a highly diminished gene pool, making the royal lineage vulnerable to a variety of genetic defects. King Tut himself married his half sister and it is likely that the mummified fetuses found in his tomb are their children who were possibly stillborn due to congenital diseases.
Dr. Hawass' narrative ends here. King Tut's story, however, doesn't. But we can hope that some day science will take us to the point where his story will indeed be complete! For now, having read this, I feel thrilled to get reminded that real science can indeed be much more thrilling than TV science!

Kiwi Travelogue

2009-12-23T04:30:00.000-05:00

Hundreds of years ago groups of seafaring, adventure-loving Polynesian explorers set sail in canoes (or wakas, as they called them) and discovered an uninhabited group of islands in the South Pacific. They became the first settlers in the lush and green wonderland full of exotic birdlife. Many of them perished in the cold. But then they learned to heat up rocks to keep themselves warm at night, make tools out of sea shells, and make warm clothing from flax fiber, feathers, and fur. They carved out a niche for themselves in what they named Aotearoa, or the land of the white cloud, a place that was renamed New Zealand by the Dutch in the 17th century.
An interesting fact about New Zealand is that, before the arrival of the settlers, the only mammals there either swam (e.g. fur seals) or flew (e.g. bats). Due to the complete absence of terrestrial predators, many species of birds quit the very energy-intensive activity of flying. But the modern times ushers in human settlers, who brought with them predatory mammals that posed a serious threat to most flightless and many flying bird species. The nocturnal kiwi – the national bird of New Zealand – is critically endangered. The kakapo – a flightless, nocturnal parrot – is near extinction. Currently, the 124 living kakapos in the world are being conserved in predator-free islands. The gigantic moa became extinct some 500 years ago. The threats are serious, but there is hope, thanks to the tireless efforts of passionate conservationists! Here are some pictures of the endemic plants and bird species of New Zealand.

Experiencing Maori culture was probably the most entertaining part of my New Zealand visit. About 16% of 4.3 million Kiwi people today are Maori. They say that the average New Zealander these days is at least one-sixteenth Maori by blood. The Maori are a lively people adept at wood carving, music, and weaving. We visited a Maori village at Rotorua. Before we could enter their village our “chief” (random scapegoat on our bus ;-)) was challenged by the members of their tribe. Once inside we explored their village, listened to stories, got acquainted with their lifestyle – both past and present, attended a Maori concert, and finally joined them for their traditional Hangi feast. I would like to share with you a series of video clips from the welcoming ceremony and the concerts.

The most unforgettable experience I had in New Zealand, however, was the boat ride through the Waitomo glow worm grotto. The boat there takes you through the still waters of an underground stream. Your eyes take some time to adjust to the pitch darkness, and your mind is soothed by the pervasive tranquility. And then, the boat enters the glow worm grotto - a cave chamber where the naturally sculptured ceiling is aglow with the luminescence of myriads of glow worms. The Waitomo glow worm, Arachnocampa luminosa, is unique to New Zealand. The larvae spin thread-like sticky feeding lines hanging from their little nests on the ceiling and use their light to lure prey, which get trapped in the threads. Something spectacular happened when our guide stamped her foot loudly on the boat. Suddenly the whole chamber seemed to light up even brighter. The greedy worms sensed the sound and took it to be a sign from potential prey, and started glowing many times brighter with hope of catching for themselves a hearty meal. Sadly (for us, and gladly for nature), photography is not allowed on this tour.
Those were just some highlights. I have a lot more to share than I can in one post. We started off at Auckland and then, through Waitomo, Rotorua, Taupo, and Napier, traveled to Palmerston North. From there we visited Manawatu gorge and Wellington, the capital city. And finally we took the scenic Overlander train ride back to Auckland. The Kiwi countryside is gorgeous and green and spotted with grazing farm animals, mainly cattle and sheep. After all, it's a country where there are 10 times as many sheep as people. Some of the other great experiences were the geothermal areas of Rotorua, sailing near Auckland, getting lost in the Bush (with umbrellas) in the rain, and of course some quality family time. I'll stop here and let the pictures tell the rest of my story.

Glimpses of Boston

2009-07-08T02:32:00.000-04:00

Raindrops on my face, gentle and refreshing - Boston welcomed us thus! I was there attending ISBI '09. The old-style streetlights, the pretty churches, the breezy banks of the Charles - I loved it all - the looks and the feel! Harvard Square was particularly fascinating - warm and busy, with a wealth of bookstores.

The rains haunted us every now and then. I loved it 'cause it got me reminiscent me of Calcutta monsoons, especially as we scampered toward the Metro hiding underneath umbrellas. :-) And when we were atop the 50th floor of the Prudential Tower for the conference reception, thanks to the thick clouds, we completely missed the city view! Alas, the caprices of Boston weather!
The Charles was magnificent, by day and by night. And, on the fourth of July, it was ablaze with many hues. The fireworks were splendid, and we went bonkers - the 9-year-old, the 17-year-old, and I. :-)
Newport, RI, was gorgeous with stately old mansions lining the shore and moving curtains of fog grazing the landscape. Together, we spent some quality family time and had some delectable Bengali food (thanks to Bandana Mashi.) And to top it off, I got to shop tax-free in NH and MA (ladies, are you listening?). :D
I'd like to share with all some of my favorite photos from the trip. That's me in front of the Trinity Church. (Photo courtesy: Q)

The Prudential Tower at night.

A lady playing our national anthem on Benjamin Franklin's glass harmonica on Harvard Square.

The foggy waters at Newport and the mansions along the shore.

The 9-year-old's masterpiece - his rendition of our Fourth of July experience (The artist himself being jetted out of a ship's chimney, his posterior in flames, the 17-year-old a.k.a. "good lord" rowing a boat on the Charles, valiant and unperturbed, and yours truly, "a.k.a. I don't know her name," emerging from the fireworks.)

And, here's what it actually was like. :-)

Also (courtesy: D), here's a video clip of the fireworks as seen from Cambridge. Enjoy!

Farm Tour

2009-05-19T16:04:00.000-04:00

Last Sunday, we went on a cook-out tour to Tanaka farms, a treasure trove of the finest seasonal vegetables. We strolled through stretches of farmland picking veggies (spinach, cilantro, beans, carrots, radish, squash, and delicious maui onions) and then washed and chopped them ourselves and finally got them grilled (along with some tofu).

After a hearty meal, we picked strawberries for dessert. They were the freshest and most delectable strawberries I've ever had. A box-full of them sit in my fridge right now. Readers, you are most welcome to swing by my place and try them while they last!
Trivia from the tour:

Scarecrows don't seem particularly effective at warding off pigeons.
Purple green beans are purple on the outside and green on the inside.
Radish leaves are quite prickly.

Grudges:

I missed most of what the tour guide was explaining because (for whatever reason) I found myself lagging behind all the time!
In spite of the mouthwatering smell of barbecued corn, we didn't get any as a part of the tour!

I'll let the photos tell the rest of the story (pic courtesies largely go to B, D, and Q).

Seal Wars: The Unsolved Indus Valley Mystery

2009-04-26T03:09:00.000-04:00

Since the accidental discovery of the lost world of Harappa and Mohenjo-Daro, we have found ourselves beset by countless unanswered questions: Who were the people? Where did they come from? What language did they speak? Where did they disappear? Did they have anything to do with the Aryans? Some of these answers, if not all, can be hoped to be found by deciphering the numerous seals with engraved hieroglyphics excavated from the Indus Valley ruins. About 6 years back, a team of linguists/historians came up with the somewhat disappointing conclusion that the symbols did not represent any language at all and were merely a part of a "nonlinguistic sign system." Today, however, the media is abuzz with the work of Rao et al, which recently appeared in Science, where the team has sought mathematical justification based on an information theoretic approach to support their hypothesis that the Indus Valley hieroglyphics indeed represent a natural language!

The team looked at conditional entropies of 5 natural linguistic systems (including English, old Tamil, and Sumerian) and 4 nonlinguistic ones (including DNA and protein sequences!) They concluded that the conditional entropy of Indus Valley inscriptions is akin to those of the tested linguistic systems. The publication has sparked off a flurry of news reports with catchy headings (some of which seem to give off the impression that the script will be deciphered by early tomorrow morning!) Well, the results do kindle hope! Indeed I was quite excited about it until I came across this speedy rebuttal by Farmer et al, the persistent propounders of the earlier theory suggesting the nonlinguistic nature of the Indus Valley script! Farmer and his team cast doubt on the reliability of conditional entropy as a statistical measure in the world of linguistics. (Linguists, what say you all on that?) It appears that they will come up with a more detailed, full-length rebuttal some time in the near future. It does seem like this battle will wage on, and I'll stay tuned for further updates.
There was a time, many years ago, when my dream was to become an archeologist who would one day crack the Indus Valley code. (To be honest, back then I was terribly addicted to mystery novels. Archeology then seemed like the closest real-life approximation to a career as a detective! Well, Sherlock Holmes is fiction, Harappa ain't!) As you can see, that childhood dream was forgotten as I eventually chose a career in engineering. But this current series of events has reignited that spark. Well, I don't mean to say I'm going out for digs now! But I sure will keep looking out for what others have dugg instead. And somewhere inside I'll keep hoping that someday we too will find our Rosetta stone! :-)

The Hummingbird

2009-04-13T11:06:00.000-04:00

A hummingbird came hovering near my window -
Cheerful, sprightly, free from cares and woes.
Enthralling me with merry midair antics,
He cured me of my Monday morning blues.

He spun and dove and smoothly somersaulted
With tremendous poise and figure-skating grace.
He finished with a bow so picture-perfect
As a disarming smile fleeted across his face.

He serenaded from outside my window.
Across the glass, I watched him pantomime.
It struck a dulcet chord in my heart that bred
The most perfect melody, meter, and rhyme.

Infected by the carefree, happy spirit
I looked into those inconspicuous eyes -
It sent me swirling down a magical vortex
Of glee, consternation, and surprise.

Suddenly I had learned to defy gravity.
Like my avian friend I too began to soar.
The pangs of a cold, humdrum existence
Seemed to afflict my humbled self no more.

Snapshots from the Trail

2009-03-07T17:29:00.000-05:00

One of the things I love most about LA is that you don't have to travel too far to remind yourself how beautiful nature can be. Here are some snapshots from my hike on the Temescal Canyon Trail this morning. The arduous climb uphill and the never-ending walk back along Sunset (phew!!) were made worthwhile by the splendid views of the Pacific, the gorgeous flora, and finally the delectable desi food after the hike. :-)

The Ultimate Expressionist

2009-01-22T02:45:00.000-05:00

Presenting... a fountainhead of full-blast entertainment, a bottomless reservoir of energy, and, of course, the coolest nephew ever... the immensely adorable Pogo!

An Ordeal

2008-11-16T20:05:00.000-05:00

Damn those dark circles,
You're such a horrible sight!
But it makes your nose look extra pointy!
Isn't that a delight?
Home's dull and lonely
'Cause your roommate's away.
But it makes you stay in lab
And make use of your day.
So when going gets tough,
Don't ever start whining,
'Cause every dark cloud
Has a silver lining.

Your code runs forever
And gives bad results in the end.
But it's okay 'cause while you were waiting for it
A poem you have penned.
But what about the ordeal
Of reading stupid poems on a blog?
When you look for an upside,
Your mind just seems to clog.
Look again, you might find something,
And then you'll be opining,
That every dark cloud
Has a silver lining.

Some More Pride, Some More Prejudice

2008-10-31T06:10:00.000-04:00

Fitzwilliam Darcy is a seemingly impertinent young gentleman with a large fortune who battles against his own prejudice as he falls in love with a girl of lower social standing. Elizabeth Bennet is a cheerful, level-headed, and forthright young lady from a middle-class family who is held back by her pride. Around them is spun Jane Austen's timeless classic which I dearly love. And today I saw it all come to life in form of a brilliant theatrical performance from the USC School of Theatre.
Jane Kendall's dramatized adaptation of the novel packs the entire story into a living-room setting at the Bennets'. (Woww!) The sets and costumes were splendid. Interesting twists to some of Austen's characters heightened comic relief. The "bookish" and nerdy-looking Mary Bennet and the wackily amusing rendition of the pompous Mr. Collins put the audience into frequent peals of laughter. But, in my opinion, topping the charts was the wildly entertaining performance of Lizzie Fabie as the "flighty" Mrs. Bennet whose weak "nerves" never seemed to be getting the consideration they deserved from the rest of the family! To sum it up, beautiful play. If you are a fan of Jane Austen or if you just like good theatre, go watch it!
Before wrapping up, I must confess that I am an ardent fan of Jane Austen. While her novels have some fascinatingly deep portrayals of characters of all flavors and dimensions, all of them have in common the clichéd ending where the female protagonist marries her beloved (always a rich gentleman). The Elizabeth Bennets find true love and the Mrs. Bennets are relieved to have their daughter married to a rich man. But what about Ms. Austen herself? Some say that at the heart of her perceptive genius was a certain failed romance. Now, although the exact details are fuzzy, I was deeply moved by the 2007 movie "Becoming Jane" which is a poignant fictional adaptation based on Austen's life. So, in the context of the clichéd happy endings, I would like to share a quote from the movie. The lovelorn aspiring author was asked the question, "Will all your stories have happy endings?" "I'll give my characters all that they desire," replied Ms. Austen. And wasn't she always true to her words!

Yet Another Temporal Paradox!

2008-10-26T20:12:00.000-04:00

Sunday morning. There I was all huddled up underneath my blanket like a turtle inside its shell. I cursorily peeked outside to have a glimpse of the clock before I stuck my head back in again. The hands of the clock met close to 8:45 and continued on their relentless ticking journey. Relieved to know it was still not 9, I was sinking back into a delightful continuum of slumber when I was stirred out it by my roommate's shriek.

"It's 10! We've slept till 10!!!"
She had just gotten out of bed and was now at her desk staring at her computer. I grabbed my cellphone from underneath my pillow. Indeed! It was 9:45 am!
"Daylight saving," she muttered in a low voice.
"Damn you, daylight saving!" I chimed in.

****

Midday. I was poring over my storybook. Thanks to daylight saving and my head heavy with an hour less of sleep I had given up on any hopes of making my day useful. I had vented out my frustration to some friends abroad, and now I was excited about spending a work-free, lazy Sunday.
"You know what? This is so weird. It says everywhere that daylight saving starts on Nov. 2nd this year."
That was my roommate. I quickly googled. Nov. 2nd indeed.. But wait, this can't be true! They must have changed the schedule and advanced daylight saving by a week for some reason. My skepticism was further strengthened by my roommate's conviction that they must've goofed up!
Disbelievingly, I googled for "India local time." 12:22 am. My eyes rolled over to the bottom right corner of the screen. 11:52 am. Daylight saving hadn't started after all. :-|

****

The previous night.
Crazy, repetitive, clicking noise.
"Isn't that the clock ticking super-fast?" half-asleep I mumbled to my roommate.
"What if time would start flying and we wouldn't have to keep in pace and we would get to keep sleeping for days on end?" I vaguely remember making an effort to say this out loud. I might have fallen asleep before finishing the sentence though!

****

We often crave for a day of complete rest. But to have an empathetic clock that understands your sentiments and readjusts itself to give you ultimate, guilt-free relaxation, that's sort of rare, ain't it?

Word of the Day: Megalopinakophobia

2008-08-28T12:04:00.000-04:00

It gives me utter delight to share with you my finding of the day. Never before did I come across a word as apt to describe what I have always felt during the long hours of Matlab simulations (occasionally culminating in intense despair thanks to crashes.) So here it goes:

Megalopinakophobia (měg'ə-lō-pēn'ə-kō-fō'bē-ə) n.

1. Fear of large matrices.
2. Abnormality characterized by excessive fondness for Fourier methods.
3. Fear of large paintings.
[Gk. megas, great + pinakas, matrix or painting + phobos, fear]

And, as a gesture of gratitude, I'd like to cite the sources:

Ode to the Cookie Jar*

2008-07-22T00:02:00.000-04:00

Of all the coveted froggies in the market,
I craved most for thee.
In spite of what it did to my pocket,
I ordered thee eventually.
Restlessly for the parcel I wait.
But, as I open the box, my ecstasy fades,
For I find thee shattered into shards.
Woebegone, I contemplate
On thy round bulging eyes, thy radiant shades,
And, unparalleled cuteness that inspires today's bards.

* Based on a true story about Toby-the-Toad-Cookie-Jar, who died a tragic premature death.

Nicholas the Charming

2008-07-12T21:12:00.000-04:00

He is a little boy - one of the littlest ones in class. He gets into trouble often. His Dad gifts him a bike for coming in the top ten in a math test, although his Dad didn't know it was because "all the rest of the class was away with colds, and the eleventh was Mathew who always comes last anyway, but it didn't matter for him because he's got a bike already." When somebody is nice to him, he think he/she is "OK." He likes cowboy books and playing cowboys. He thinks girls are sappy and always crying. And to quote him on that: "Well, I suppose I sometimes cry myself, but only for something serious like when the living room vase got broken and Dad told me off and it wasn't fair because I didn't do it on purpose and anyway it was an ugly vase and I know Dad doesn't like me to play soccer in the house but it was raining outside." That's Nicholas!

I stumbled upon Le petit Nicolas as I was looking for a fun read to improve my French. This happens to be the first book in a fascinating series by René Goscinny, the author of Asterix, and illustrator Jean-Jacques Sempé. While waiting to lay my hands on the French version (which is on its way from Amazon) I was blown away reading the translation Nicholas, which I picked up from the USC library. Arranged as a series of anecdotes narrated by little Nicholas, the book, with its delightfully simple language and some very humorous illustrations, is touching, funny, and marvellously visual.

But wait, there's more! I still haven't told you about the gang. There's Alec, "who is very fat and who is always eating." There's the bespectacled Cuthbert, "who is top of the class and teacher's pet." There's Eddie, "who is a very strong boy and he usually prefers punching people's noses." There's Geoffrey, whose "dad is very rich." There's Matthew, "who's bottom of the class." And there are many more. Want to know what happens when they all get together? Check this out!! Pandemonium. :-)

And to give due credit to Mr. Sempé for the amazing illustrations, here's a set of pictures I put together from the story in which Nicholas decided to get his Mom a bouquet for her birthday:

They call him "le petit Nicolas." I'd say he's "le Nicolas charmant." You'd probably agree! :-)

The Grass Wasn't Green on Either Side...

2008-07-02T13:55:00.000-04:00

…In fact there wasn’t any grass anywhere. Oh no, I’m not talking about France. France was very green and simply mind blowing. But, during my return trip, I had an experience—a rare one, and that is what I’m here to share today… I saw Greenland!

Bright daylight and clear skies made way for a rare view of the predominantly white island. Even as we approached, I could spot icebergs floating around near the coast. As the flight drew toward the interiors, I could see snow-clad mountains and mountain-top lakes. But the most magnificent of all were the glaciers—colossal icy rivers meandering gracefully—the ice “flowing” from the tributaries to the main glacier to the distributaries which melt and merge into the sea—often in a distinctive “fan.” So spectacularly river-like and yet so icy!

All that said, now it’s time for some snapshots. So here they go. In this first one, you can see the southern tip of Greenland. The icebergs look like tiny white dots in the water.
If you look closely at this second one, you’ll see a lake on the mountain and the mouth of a glacier next to it.
The ones below are actually my favorites. You see tributary glaciers merging into one before they hit the sea.
And, last but not the least, here’s a picture of a “fan” at the mouth a glacier that I was delighted to spot.
Although I feel a few lousy photographs clicked through the hazy, miniscule plane window do anything but justice to the magnificence of the actual view, I thought I should still make an effort to share this precious experience. My heartfelt thanks to the US Airways pilot who kept us informed about the views from time to time. I got a good view of the English Channel (guess what? You can see both the English and French shores at the same time!) And of London too! Usually I hate to miss take-off and touch-down. But, when I was sunk into my Time magazine and the plane hit the runway with a thud and I realized I had actually missed touch-down, I wasn’t sad for a change. I had had bigger thrills on this ride, hadn’t I?

As Queer as a Clockwork Orange

2007-05-06T13:54:00.000-04:00

I thought I'd resume my blogging spree by reviewing Stanley Kubrick's timeless classic. The 60s saw a rise in freewill and unruliness amongst teenagers. The protagonist, Alex, is a representative of that, perhaps in an extreme and exaggerated way. We see the everyday orgies of sexual violence that Alex and his fellow "droogs" indulge in, the portrayal of which is darkly artistic. So is the setting of the Korova milkbar, a place frequented by the boys. Alex loves Beethoven and finds acute satisfaction in fantasizing about rape and torture. After one of their escapades, Alex is caught red-handed and is put into jail with charges of murder. The movie takes a turn when the fruits of modern medicine are used to "treat" this juvenile delinquent. His body is conditioned to experience terror and paralysis in response to violence. He can't take Beethoven any more.

Alex is discharged. His family refuses to accept him and he experiences bitter retribution in the hands of victims of his past brutalities. His agony reaches a peak when he is left to suffer in a room resounding with the melody of Beethoven. It is at this point of time that he chooses to end his life and jumps out of the window. But he survives the fall and ends up in a hospital with broken bones. He is in the newspapers *again*. And this time, he ends up as the center of a heated political debate about the justness of the so-called scientific cure for crime. He undergoes slow and careful treatment to annull the effects of the earlier treatment. The movie ends with a "special visitor", a minister, coming to meet Alex at the hospital. Posing for photos with the minister in front of crowds of journalists and cameramen with Beethoven playing in the background, Alex finds himself cured and gives a twisted smile as he indulges in sexual fantasies like before.

The first half of the movie uses Alex as a representative of the rebelliously delinquent teenager. The grotesque yet artistic portrayal of the savageries somehow keeps you from hating Alex. The second half of the movie evokes in its viewers a deep sympathy for Alex. It shows the unpleasant consequence of using science to interfere with nature. It also fills you up with disgust for politically motivated government policies and shows the futility of it all.

So much for the plot. In my opinion, the theme is broader and more general: Whether for good or evil, free will is something natural and spontaneous and is an integral part of who you are. The central question posed by the movie is whether it is worthwhile to curb free will. The movie does not present a clearcut opinion on this. But, it definitely reveals Kubrick's bend of mind against the curbing of free will. The ending is not very conclusive. Alex's sexual urges are definitely restored, but we don't know if he will continue to be the brute he used to be. It is left for the viewer to decide. Thus, it is an open-ended work of art that leaves its viewers pondering. Someone looking for a clear-cut message might be disappointed.

Quota Issue Revisited

2006-06-22T03:14:00.000-04:00

A lot has been said and a lot has been written about the issue of OBC reservations in institutions of higher education in India. And now, when the World Cup fever has gripped the world, I finally choose to write on this wasted topic. Absurd? Well, last night I was reading the interview with the Dean of Student Affairs on Scholars’ Avenue, and I can’t help sharing some comments.

The dean’s stance was as expected. He chose to stay away from figures and showed full support for the government. I don’t blame him as an individual. He is a government stooge. But if the deans and directors of all the IITs and other institutions came together and voiced their true thoughts, it surely would make a difference.

However, there is something else that bothered me more. I was browsing through the comments posted by students, and that is what really disappointed me. Except for a couple of them, the comments were anything but constructive. It reminded me of this article that many of my friends from Kgp had forwarded to me. After all that has been happening, the outrage about Arjun Singh being the chief guest at the upcoming convocation in KGP is natural. But dissipating the anger in form of swearwords doesn’t help. It doesn’t lead anyone anywhere! You would expect the so-called “cream of the country” to be great thinkers.

People have suggested demonstrations and mass boycott. There was this one suggestion about everyone applying for Degree in Absentia. It would be simply beautiful if students were to come together and make this happen. No ill conduct, no rules violated, yet the voice of the students will be heard.

Before wrapping up, I’ll share some random thoughts on the reservation issue. It’s obvious that if something should be done for uplifting the backward sections of the society, it should be at the primary education level. Here are some things that could be done:

1) The pay of primary school teachers could be hiked to attract more qualified people toward primary school teaching.

2) High school teachers could be encouraged to volunteer to teach some classes at the primary level.

3) This may sound crazy, but it actually makes more sense to have quotas in the primary and high school level in public as well as private schools rather than to have quotas in places of higher education. True, most good private schools are in the cities and the majority of the backward population is from villages. But this way at least the poorer sections in the cities could benefit.

4) Coming back to the issue of quotas in colleges and universities, we want the government to be able to specify timeframes at the end of which the quotas will disappear and to stick to these targets. It shouldn’t be difficult to come up with these targets given that the quota issue has been experimented with for decades now.

Of course, there lies the fundamental question whether quotas in colleges have been or can be of any help at all. And to answer that, I can ask another question that arises from a simple analogy. How much did India benefit from the policy of restricted trade that lasted for decades?

I can go on and on. That’s the reason I was refraining from writing on this topic all this while. :-) Comments are most welcome. If you find any of my ideas faulty or half-baked, please elaborate your views.

On a final note, the hatred generated amongst various sections of the society as a result of these recent happenings is depressing. So is the prospect of the caste system staying alive (with renewed importance) for many years to come.

A Barmecide’s Feast

2006-05-20T14:29:00.000-04:00

A graduating colleague treated us to dinner at an authentic Chinese restaurant yesterday. I had been to authentic Chinese eating places a couple of times before. But this experience turned out to be one of a kind.

Imagine a capacious and well-decorated dining hall with a splendid display of tanks housing a variety of live fishes and their kin, that too with price tags. Sounds absurd? Not really. It is a means of convincing customers that the restaurant indeed uses fresh catch in its cooking!

The scent of seafood, the characteristic roundtable with a rotating centerpiece, a menu-card that boosts your vocabulary on marine life threefold, kettles of tea and no water—it was what you’d expect a bona fide Chinese eatery to be like. Somehow I decided against being too ambitious in my order and went for an ordinary Szechwan chicken.

First, there was a soup which someone said had monkey-head! I couldn’t help thinking of the Indiana Jones movie in which monkey-brain was shown as an Indian delicacy! However, it was a relief to find out soon that monkey head happened to be a type of edible mushroom.

The centerpiece was soon full of dishes heaped with an assortment of molluscs. As the food was circulated, I grabbed as much tofu as I could. There was also some fish I could help myself with. When the Szechwan chicken came, it was more welcome than ever.

As I was nibbling at some beans, the “brown cucumber” dish arrived that caused quite a stir around the table. A glance at the dish revealed that the brown cucumbers were in fact juicy brown worms each about an inch in length!

Finally some chicken! But my excitement died down to zilch when I found the head of the creature delightfully sitting on one side of the plate staring me in the eyes.

Even the shrimp that came seemed to ogle at me with huge black eyeballs. Then there was what looked like pork. But, wait. No! It was frog meat. There was squid and sea cucumber and a lot more which I can’t quite recall.

Gruesome? Well, I chose not to think of it that way. And that is why, shocked as I was, I didn’t quite feel like running away from the table. On the contrary, I’d say it was a thrilling and unique experience that gave me a story to share with people. All this said, I wonder what I would have done if one of those creatures on the table would have suddenly started moving!!!

So Dark the Con of Man

2006-05-17T04:57:00.001-04:00

The much-hyped movie premieres today at the Cannes Film Festival and hits theaters this Friday. While some people are eagerly waiting for its release, some conservative sections worldwide are busy launching protests to stop the screening of the The Da Vinci Code. Roman Catholics in India began a hunger strike, while the followers of the Orthodox Church in Greece have launched angry demonstrations. Some time back the Vatican officials had called for its boycott.

Do the protests make sense? Well, some of the ideas projected by the book are indeed controversial. The book suggests that Jesus had a wife and their bloodline survives even today, portrays the Opus Dei as a wicked cult trying to hide the true origin of Christianity by hook or crook, claims that the Priory of Sion still worships Mary Magdalene and is trying to keep the truth alive, and much more! How much of this is true? Hard to tell! In fact, a whole bunch of books have been written to address this issue.

Let’s get back to the question about whether the protests make any sense at all. Does the book grossly misrepresent the Christian faith? May be. Does the book hurt Christian sentiments? Probably yes. But with over 60 million copies sold and the book translated into some 44 languages, don’t you think the damage has been done already? Will the screening of the movie make a huge difference now?

On my end, I’m excited about finding out what Ron Howard, Tom Hanks, and the team have to offer. I had read the book some two years back. From what I remember, from a literary point of view, it’s no work of art. But as a thriller, I found it sensational. It throws new information on such commonplace topics, that too in such an intriguing manner, that it’s bound to enthrall anyone. Now hopefully it’ll be a blockbuster.

Somewhere inside me, I wish the conservatives were more of a sport. If Mr. Justice Smith could put a code in his ruling for fun, why can’t these guys take it easy? On a more serious note, although the book portrays Jesus Christ as a man, it does not question his greatness. However it does point the finger at the church in many ways. So, it boils down to the question, is the church really trying to protect the faith, or is it merely trying to curb all questions raised? :-)

Meet Charlie!

2006-04-11T04:01:00.004-04:00

Meet my buddy Charlie - a very cute fellow who tends to get overly emotional at times. Charlie has been my most steady friend through the best and the worst of times. So, here's a post dedicated to my dear friend capturing him in many moods.

Five Point Someone - A Review

2006-04-02T13:53:00.000-04:00

“...it is probably an example of how screwed up your college years can get if you don’t think straight.” And very precisely, that is what this book is all about. You start off with three well-defined characters and the system of academics in IITs, you use your creativity unstintingly to make sure these characters take wrong decisions at every corner, and you end up with a book like Five Point Someone!

The book has its strengths alright. In no time, you feel familiar with the three main characters. Ryan and Alok are stereotypes. Good looks, dauntlessness, love for creativity and free thinking, generous allowances from rich parents, and extreme loyalty toward those whom he calls “friends” define Ryan. Alok, on the other hand, is the more sensitive one who is weighed down by the cares of a needy family with a crippled father and a nubile sister. Hari, the narrator, is a more interesting character. He lacks the boldness to speak his mind whether it is with his friends or his girlfriend. He is often hypocritical and gets easily swayed by others. The character descriptions are vivid. What I found more appealing is how the author remains faithful to the character definitions till the end.

These three kids start off at IIT and are soon overwhelmed by the unfriendliness of the academic environment and vehemently criticize the system. If you are an IITian, you’ll probably be able to relate to this part. But you’ll soon get wondering when these guys would learn to accept things the way they are and become a part of the flow like you did! It takes you some time to figure out that this is never going to happen. That is when you get a hang of the dark tone that will be lasting till the end of the book. With every new turn of events, you find them sinking deeper into the mud. From starting off at 5-pointers, they go all the way to facing a Disciplinary Committee (or a “DC” – it’s something which spells D-day for an IITian!) Once you get used to the dark style, you will probably start liking it. The book offers you smooth reading in a casual, informal style. I’m no voracious reader, but it took me a few hours and very little effort to finish this one.

Now let me tell you about my immediate feelings after reading this novel. I found it shockingly disappointing! You see there was something special about those undergraduate years at IIT Kgp. Even today I would like to believe those years were the best four years of my life. So the very thought of a first book about undergraduate life at IITs brings in some expectations. You would like to be able to connect to it. Let’s keep this discussion as objective as possible. So let me ask you to name the first five things your undergraduate life reminds you of. Here are my five (in no particular order): 1. hostel life, 2. my best friends, 3. learning to manage time 4. extra-curricular activities, and 5. an urge to excel in academics and the struggle to do so. Of all these, this book talks about only the last one and that too in its most exaggerated and bitter form—so bitter that you find it horrifying.

Logically speaking, if we allow some amount of exaggeration, given the characters and the system as it is, the chain of events described in the novel, though unlikely, is probably not impossible. Had there been a lot of books written about life at IITs, one book that describes a special exaggerated case could have been acceptable. But the problem is that so far this is the only attempt of its kind. Consequently, it ends up projecting a dark, distorted picture of life inside IITs to the world outside. A good book, but it gives very wrong impressions.

So, what we need now is a book that will bring out the true flavor of IIT life. Fellow Kgpians, pick up the hint!

Straight from the Heart of a Calcuttan

2006-03-25T20:36:00.000-05:00

I found this in an article in the LA Times:

CALCUTTA SEARS the senses. You can almost taste the poverty, the spices in the air, the breathless heat and the swirl of humanity. I once watched bodies being cremated on pyres along the banks of the Hughli River. Then I retired to the Grand Hotel for a splendid lunch. Wondrous, uninviting, unforgettable — the former capital of British India is all those things.

"There is only one city in

India

," Rudyard Kipling wrote in 1888 in "City of Dreadful Night." "Bombay is too green, too pretty, and too strugglesome; and Madras died ever so long ago. Let us take off our hats to Calcutta, the many-sided, the smoky, the magnificent, as we drive in over the Hughli Bridge in the dawn of a still February morning."

— All said about the city where I have lived over two-thirds of my life. Every bit of it so undeniably true. I close my eyes and muse. I begin strolling down memory lane.

Summer evening. You are on your way back home on a bus — a crammed bus — on a narrow, jam-packed street. You are standing, clutching the closest bar for support hoping the plump lady seated in front of you will disembark at the next stop. There is barely any space to move. You smell the stale air inside. Sweat trickles down your temples and you curse yourself for forgetting your hanky for the nth time. The bus, that was advancing at a snail’s pace, suddenly stops for good. A taxi coming from the opposite direction trying to overtake another bus is now right is front of your bus blocking the way for both vehicles. A heated altercation between the cabdriver and your bus-driver ensues. Some fellow passengers join in. You catch words and phrases now and then. You don’t try to listen. You don’t really care. You feel tired, angry, and impatient and just want to get home.

Summer evening again. End of a hot, sweltering day. Cool gusts of wind picking up speed. It takes shape of a violent windstorm–a Kalbaishakhi. Dust from the streets swirls up in the air. Ma rushes to close all windows to keep the dust from coming in. You hate her for that. Who cares about the dust when it’s so soothing and cool outside? Well, she who has to clean up the next morning does! Kalbaishaki—the tumult, the refreshing coolness, and the bliss!

Late June. Monsoons in full vigor. Threatening rain-clouds, thunder and lightning, and torrential downpours. You just love to climb up to the rooftop with Ma and/or Didi and get wet. It pours relentlessly, and the neighborhood gets water-logged in no time. The rain clears the layers of dust from the foliage of your neighbor’s mango tree reviving its lush green tinge. You fill your lungs with the smell of wet earth. You are reminded of those days when Dadu used to be there, and you would float paper boats in the pool of water outside.

Another rainy day. Only this time you need to go out somewhere. The long-awaited rains now feel sinister. If you are lucky enough, you’ll find a rickshaw passing by, and that’ll save you the pains of wading through the pool of water carrying all the squalor of the gutters. It eventually stops raining. The water recedes besmirching the cratered streets with mud, filth, and puddles. Dum Dum Junction. The road travels underneath a series of low overpasses for the trains. You are on foot on the dank, dark, smelly, narrow sidewalk bordering the road. You squelch through the mud, umbrella in one hand, trying to avoid contact with the wet mossy wall. There is a puddle ahead of you and a passer-by coming from the opposite direction. You take turns to go around the puddle. Finally you reach the other end of it. You heave a sigh of relief as you step out of hell.

Durga pujo is approaching fast. The air is filled with the hallmarks of autumn — plenty of sunshine, azure skies, and clouds like cotton. Mahalaya. You are up before sunrise and first listen to Mahishasuramardini on the radio while huddling inside the mosquito net and then watch the Mahalaya-special program on TV. A few more days and then finally it’s shashthi. Holiday! Pandal in the neighborhood. The hubbub of the lively crowds. The cheerful radiance of the lighting. The perky rhythm of the dhaak. The sharp smell of the dhunuchi. The reverberating voice of the purohit chanting mantras. The eager anticipation for pushpanjali. You get decked out in new clothes and go pandal-hopping. You complain of the long queues but, once you are inside, most of the woes are forgotten. There is so much to analyze and admire — creative new themes for the pandals, artistic renditions of idols, and innovative lighting and décor. Time flies, and, before you know, it’s Bijoya, and you bemoan the yearlong wait before the next pujo.

Winter. It’s the season of arts. You would want to frequent Nandan chottor with family and friends. The film festival in November brings to you a fabulous selection of motion picture masterpieces. December ushers in the climax of the city's thespian spirit with the annual theater festival. Whether it is poignant drama, sprightly humor, or dark satire, the local theater groups take your breath away with their creative sets, innovative themes, psychedelic lighting, and of course their immense acting talent. The days following are a breath hold as the best is yet to come. Calcutta Book Fair, in January, is the most-awaited time of the year. The unflinching four, Ma, Baba, Nil, and I, join the human deluge at Maidan. Fiction, nonfiction, storybooks, textbooks, books-boi-kitabein-knigi — the stalls have it all! You weave through the crowd and inhale clouds of dust but manage to saunter across the wide arena digging through the overwhelming arrays of books, loading yourself with increasingly many shopping bags, and always keeping a watchful eye as you know not what treasures the very next stall may be hiding.

You think of the landmarks — the Hooghly river, the two bridges across it, Maidan, Shaheed Minar a.k.a. “the monument”, Victoria Memorial, Eden Gardens, Race Course, Dakshineshwar temple, Science City, Nicco Park, or the Calcutta Metro. You think of the new, glittering plazas Forum and City Center — favorite haunts of the youth of today. You think of having fuchka or bhelpuri from the roadside stalls. As you think of Calcutta, you mind wanders through all that the city has offered to you. As your mind roams through the expanse of the city and around the calendar, the dust, the smoke, the sweat, the art, the warmth, and the love repeatedly come back to you. You keep wandering. But, suddenly you stop short. In front of you is a quaint, white building in a small neighborhood in Dum Dum. The address plate reads 134 N. N. Road, Cal. 28. You step inside to get welcomed by all the warm, smiling faces that you call family. That’s Calcutta for me!

Of Me, My Chrono Level, and the Ichthyogenians

2006-03-19T19:26:00.000-05:00

Today is an important day in the history of the universe 'cause it is marked by two major milestones. And what is even more incredible is that these two events occurred at the exact same instant! How do I know? Well, thanks to me and my chrono level. Given that you are from planet Earth, the chances are exactly 99.99999783% that you wouldn't know what that is. Very precisely said, the chrono level is an instrument that measures the difference in the time of occurrence of two independent events to an accuracy of 0.000000001%. This means it is more accurate by eight orders of magnitude than common weather forecast services and by about 6 orders of magnitude than the premonition of an ant about an imminent earthquake. So much for figures. The device looks as plain and unpretentious as a spirit level and offers USB connectivity. All you need is a PC with a broadband internet connection and a licensed version of the Woogle Universe 4.2 software installed on it. Truly revolutionary, right?? And may I now very humbly introduce myself as the inventor of this nifty little gadget.

Of course you will be wondering how such an important invention could've remained shrouded from public attention all this while. Seven years back, when I first invented the chrono leveland Woogle Universe Beta, I approached some of the biggest entrepreneurs with my technology. The first one of them was so excited about it that it gave him a stroke. Not only did it fetch me an earful from his wife but it also cost me a fortune to keep her from suing me! It was quite an adventure for me, and I barely survived through it. And with whatever remained of my enthusiasm, I decided not to give up and approached a second person with my idea. But, by some odd chance, our conversation was overheard by his most powerful and influential rival. What ensued was a huge ego battle, the consequences of which were so shameful and scandalous that they better be forgotten.

All this led me into this bitter phase of extreme depression. I finally made up my mind to discard and destroy the accursed possession - the source of it all. I sat in front of my PC ready to format the hard drive that contained the results of the lengthy and tedious computations that led to my dear creation. Just as I was about to confirm formatting, there was this loud thud and the ground below me momentarily shook so hard that I thought it was the end of the world. It took me a while to gather myself together and to get up and stare out through the window. And even as I was looking, I felt a chill pass down my spine. My heart froze. I couldn't believe my eyes. In my backyard was standing what I first thought was a giant green cucumber. The next moment a door popped open on its wall and out came a creature that looked a lot like a slimy, green fish except that it was upright, was of about my height, and used the most unbelievable means to propel itself forward.

It came near my window and spoke to me in impeccable English with a clear Indian accent. "Fear not, friend. I mean no harm to you. I come from planet Ichthyoges, exactly 26.2 light years away."
The voice sounded so human, I felt rather comforted. But I was still blank.
He continued, "If you remember, the start- and the endpoints for the famous Milky Way Marathon are your planet and mine."
Nope, that didn't help me much. I still didn't speak.
But it seemed like he wasn't going to give up. He continued even more enthusiastically, "We even share our ancestry with you guys. Before the meteorite hit your planet, our intelligent forefathers, the ichthyosaurs, left your planet in a spaceship and started a new civilization in the planet now known as Ichthyoges which is our home today."
I was still as clueless.
Then he said, "Dear friend, we came all the way to ask you for your chrono level."
"Huh?" That was the first syllable I uttered making it seem less like a monologue. And, from then on, my life changed.

He told me about how the success of the smart ichthyosaurs in different spheres of existence had gradually sown seeds of complacency among their descendants. The complacency manifested itself as extreme indolence and was beginning to influence the genetic make-up of the Ichthyogenians. Finally, the time came when the rest of the universe branded them as the laziest race ever. Ashamed as they were, their new president Spellsowaukee, who, owing to some mutation, was free of the deadly indolence gene, decided to take initiative to gather the race together and begin some ground-breaking work all over again. He did two things: 1. He passed laws to severely punish those who displayed various symptoms of laziness. 2. He kept searching for mutated individuals from the opposite sex who were devoid of the indolence gene and, with their help, reproduced bountifully to contribute a significant population of non-lazy Ichthyogenians. Brilliant measures! Success was his. In less than two hundred years, his community was shining again, and they were working on some of the most difficult science projects ever. The most difficult one of these was building a time machine. And that is exactly where they needed my chrono level. We immediately struck a deal. They acquired my invention and agreed to pay me in gold from time to time, the condition being I had to keep it a secret from the rest of the universe.

Now I am rich. However, I have to store my gold in a secret location underground (to avoid income tax complications) and live as a grad student (to account for a source of income). Now, going back to where we started (if at all you recall anything), I was about to tell you about the two major milestones of today - the two events, which according to my chrono level occurred at the exact same time: First, the Ichthyogenians finally launched their time machine after 183 years of intensive research. Second - this is more of a personal milestone - I managed to open my blog after 18.3 months of procrastination. If you have read this far, fear not! I'll definitely post shorter entries in future. So please visit my blog again!