Symbolic Patriotism

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Ever since the US overthrew their British Rulers violently, they had no replacement for their erstwhile King. They didn't deem their President as their Supremo. So, they chose their Flag, the Stars & Stripes, as their inviolable symbol of pride and patriotism.

Their Moment of Victory in the Second World War is not symbolized by their Fat Man and the Little Boy who did the trick, but by their 'Iwo Jima' moment:

http://www.visitingdc.com/virginia/iwo-jima-picture.htm

The Marines are bending but the flag is aloft in the hot breeze of battle.

Wiki tells me the iconic story of American pride:

"...in the Summer Olympics of 1908 in London, where countries were asked to dip their flags to King Edward VII, the American flag bearer did not. Team Captain Martin Sheridan is famously quoted as saying: 'this flag dips to no earthly king'..."

There are strict rules pertaining to its use by public. In general the Stars & Stripes can't be used on T-shirts, potteries and footwear. And burning it in public is the ultimate insult to the erstwhile Superpower.

The story in Britain is somewhat different. They have their King who is the symbol of their sovereignty, although he has no power and has to practically cajole their Parliament for footing their expenses like maintaining their palaces and their life style.

I am told that in the Hyde Park, one can abuse any MP for his politics or persona and deride everything on earth to his heart's content, but nothing insulting can be uttered about their King.

Since the King (rather, the Queen) is their Holy Cow, their flag, the Union Jack, is more of an emblem and one can sport it more freely.

When India became free and got rid of their Emperors, their symbolic place was taken by the Indian Tricolour with elaborate flag codes that prohibited its use by private citizens except on the I-Day and R-Day.

But lately the flag code has been amended twice and people of India, that is Bharat, are now more free to use it.

I write this now since the recent 12 days at Ramlila Maidan witnessed thousands of the Tricolour waved by kids and cools. In fact the Maidan was awash with the three colors.

And I read that the historic ghoonghat vaudeville act by our policewoman was preceded by her 'furious' flag waving.

The other symbol in the Maidan was the HUUUGE photo of the Father of our Nation as the backdrop of the Event. No one could miss it. He was like the Happier Prince, smiling tolerantly at the goings on.

Unfortunately MG was not elevated to our Symbolic Sacred Crow, although I consider him the most interesting Indian politician...others may be greater. There is no law against breaking his legs and hands and head, which symbolic acts take place routinely nowadays.

Apparently B R Ambedkar was against his elevation to the Indian Throne...and he was sensible...who will protect the million statues of MG, big and small, behind which we daily hide and seek...

But there were two impositions of patriotism during my time.

During the 1950s, there was a law that every cinema hall has to precede its movie by a 10 minute 'Newsreel' made by the Films Division propagating the achievements of the Congress Government. Since I was a school student at that time, I found it very useful for 'collecting' material for our Social Studies Exam. But, by and large the Halls were empty till the bally thing was over.

I read the other day that the practice is going to be revived...

The other symbolic display of our patriotism came up when we were given a sound drubbing by the Chinese in our eminently forgettable 'war' with them that crippled Nehru once for all.

To ignite our smoking sense of pride, we were forced to stand up and keep mum at the end of every film in every theater when our National Anthem was compulsorily played. Well, most folks including me were edging to the exit gate to scram...I don't know when this practice ended...maybe after the Liberation of Bangladesh...I can only hope that it too is not going to be revived.

Why not Anna as our new National Mascot...sorry hon'ble MPs...I beg your pardon...

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Gift Boilers

Nino writes that his 6-year-old daughter called reverentially the Duchess was so enamored of big machines that he decided to gift her a Lathe as her wedding present.

But there is this curious news item from DC today which may be more exicting for the Duchess:

"The Chief Minister, Mr N. Kiran Kumar Reddy, rewarded the labour minister, Mr Danam Nagendar by allocating the department of boilers to him.

Usually the department of boilers is attached to the energy ministry, which is presently held by the Chief Minister himself.

The government on Tuesday issued orders deleting boilers from energy and giving it to (the labour minister) Mr Nagender."


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Music & the Mule

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I learned from yesterday's ToI that Ustad Bade Ghulam Ali Khan, born in Lahore, died in Hyderabad and sang some of his best songs here while living as a guest in Basheerbagh Palace.

The piece of news that intrigued me is:

"...He became a household name when K Asif and Naushad persuaded him to sing that intoxicatingly sensual---Prem jogan bangayee---in the magnum opus 'Mughal-e-Azam'...He was said to have been paid a whopping Rs 25,000 for that rendition when the leading singers of that time Mohammed Rafi and Lata Mangeshkar were receiving only Rs 5000 for each song..."

Well, that was a Dilip Kumar-Madhubala starrer...that says it all and apparently the biggest box office hit till Sholay.

I watched the video and and tried listening to that song just now:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Aob1I_Ifee0

Well, RKN didn't happen to watch me, but I am the epitome of his masterpiece: Non-musical Man in Next Sunday.

I am tone-deaf and felt bad for it till about my middle age, after which everyone counts his infirmities as his blessings, and lives happily with them forever.

While at my University, I was invited to several Carnatic Music Festivals by eminences. I wore my sole 'evening dress' (dhoti-kurta) as a matter of form and sat in the back benches as usual.

The thing that bugged me was the slow start...the accompanists tuning their violins, drums...both the skinned stuff and the pots hugged by half-naked pot-bellied maestros, cymbals and the young girl sitting behind quietly and twanging her stringed instrument mournfully.

And when everything is ready, the Ustad (or Usatadini) starts clearing his throat and launches into his alap so slowly that my scant attention is led far away to the subdued roar of our sea-beach.

And since I was determined to get the bang for my buck, I sat through for 15 minutes and ran away to the beach, returning after 2 hours to witness the final battle between the skinned one and the potbellied one.

One of the major problems for the non-musical man (not mentioned by RKN) is that most singers look ugly (to me) while singing classical music. They go into apparently needless contortions of their faces, vocal chords bulging, heads oscillating, hands beating their thighs and stuff. I rarely saw a classical vocalist singing like say Madhubala with her face all the more beautiful while lip-synching.

Well, I be blowed...'intoxicatingly senusal'...for me Madhubala has always been...despite the maestro behind...

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There was this highly controversial ghoongat vaudeville act by the ex-police officer at Ramlila the other day:

http://iamstillzero.blogspot.com/2011/08/see-kiran-bedi-theatrics-comedy-drama.html

It became controversial later on...while the going was good, it was evident that the 85,000 crowd was enjoying it.

The Act was obviously not liked by the venerables at which it was aimed.

And, of all people, the ever-sportive Biharilals spoke up against it in their hallowed chamber.

And privilege motions are in the offing. And the police officer refuses to budge and say sorry...apparently she is ok with going to the prison which she did so much to reform and got awards.

If that indeed happens, we have another martyrdom conferred by our lawmakers and their ilk.

But between them it is ok if they sling mud on one another....pals after all.

Here is the latest from DC (with photos):

"Lalu Prasad, Jagannadh Mishra appear before court in fodder scam, granted time to appeal"

"Anna fit after fast because he doesn't eat fodder, Thackeray tells Lalu"

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Tailpiece

The latest name-changing game is to rename West Bengal as Paschim Banga.

Almost a literal translation, keeping the West intact.

This reminds me of the last scene of the Laurel-Hardy movie: Way Out West.

The girl says: "I am from South"

And Hardy echoes her jubilantly: "I too am from South"

And Laurel follows: "I too am from South"

Hardy sternly: "South of what???"

Laurel: "London"



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Dum & Dee

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Saswat writes that there has been an unprecedented shut down of NYC in honor of Irene; but fortunately the storm blew away not causing too much damage to the City.

But here in our Capital City, the reverse was true...most everyone was caught unprepared...in particular the Powers that matter.

As a seasoned spectator of the political events in Free India, I felt that the hungama at Ramlila pales in significance compared to the other one at another kushti maidan not far off in Lutyens' Delhi.

It reminded me of the famous nursery rhyme:

Tweedledum and Tweedledee

Agreed to have a battle;

For Tweedledum said Tweedledee

Had spoiled his nice new rattle.

Just then flew down a monstrous crow,

As black as a tar-barrel;

Which frightened both the heroes so,

They quite forgot their quarrel.

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Shells & Sols

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When we kids used to visit the seashore we used to collect white shells of a particular shape and size. We needed them for our Snakes & Ladders game. We didn't have dice.

Bigger brown shells were sold in Temple Markets. Often their tops were inscribed with art and calligraphy and were showpieces and also keyring danglers.

Even bigger ones called conches were used in our Pujas. Apparently, water becomes holy when served out of them. Also in Bengal on auspicious occasions. Also used as bugles in Kurukshetra War.

Basketful of shapeless shells used to be collected by tribal women from the sea beaches and sold in the market, perhaps for conversion into lime.

We learned of canon shells later on.

When I landed at Vizagh for my University Education (so-called), there was a huge petrochemicals company called Burmah-Shell. It had a nice logo of an orange seashell with yellow stripes.

The Burmah part was easy but I couldn't guess what a seashell has to do with an Oil Firm...to this day, even with Google.

I recall Feynman dubbing the Theoretical Physics ventures of making out the underlying science behind Elementary Particles as a Shell Game. Apparently a Shell Game is a guessing game in gambling...maybe like Poker.

And today I learned another use of shell as an adjective from DC...Shell Firms in Hyderabad:

"State's IT babus ignore shell firms"

Apparently there are about a thousand fake Companies in my adopted city manufacturing and selling fake certificates of experience and salary on letterheads of their own non-existent firms and even well-known Biggies at a premium.

Some bomb-shell that!

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First we were told it is the Carbon Dioxide emitted by our cars and trucks.

Then it was the Methane emitted by our Indian Buffaloes.

And then the Aerosols and chlorofluorocarbons used in our refrigerators.

The latest culprits, it seems, are the Anesthetics used by surgeons.

What could be next suspect for Irene (Adler)?

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Speechification

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Today has been an interesting day in the history of the Parliament of Free India which by the way is 4 years younger to me.

They worked hard on a Saturday.

Tomorrow is Sabbath.

Back to business day after tomorrow.

The more she changes the more she remains the same...I mean Mother India

Cheers!

P.S. That reminds me of a fascinating whodunit I read 40 years ago:

"Saturday the Rabbi Went Hungry".

The entire text is available at:

http://www.e-reading.org.ua/bookreader.php/113699/Kemelman_-_Saturday_the_Rabbi_Went_Hungry.html

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Political Correctness

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When we were kids, we used to slyly look up the English-Telugu Dictionary for the meanings of forbidden words like harlot, whore and prostitute (among others).

And get our two-farthings of thrill.

Nowadays these words are considered offensive and the right word is supposed to be: 'Sex Worker' although I presume the job description largely remains the same.

That it is indeed a 'job' like any other was told to me by a project student who visited a West European Welfare State. She said this job is now legalized and so if an unemployed doctorate female of suitable age and requisite qualifications asks for 'unemployment allowance (dole)', she might well be told that a job vacancy of this description is available and she should take it or lump it...

'Job' itself is infra dig nowadays and you better call it a 'living'.

When I registered in a matrimonial website for suitable brides for my son at a popular portal a few years ago, I was astounded to receive offers from bridegrooms whose moms described themselves 'home-makers'. I thought they were maid servants, but I was told they were honorable middle class housewives.

I felt that the 'opposite' of 'home-maker' ought to be 'house-breaker', meaning an unemployed husband like Andy Capp or gps.

By the way, 'maid servant' is nowadays offensive and they call themselves 'helpmeets'.

When I was new to my job as a Faculty Member at IIT KGP during the 1960s, I used to submit manuscripts for publication in International Journals and get derisive comments from their 'referees'. Three decades later, I used to get even more offensive comments from them, but they came to call themselves 'peer reviewers' (hang them!).

And journalists used to happily call themselves 'reporters' or 'correspondents'. But nowadays they prefer to glorify themselves: 'scribes', a term we used for writers like Ganeshjee for Vyas Muni who could only speak but not write Sanskrit or Chitragupt employed by Lord Yama who was too busy elsewhere with his thankless job.

And MPs (Members of Parliament) insist on referring to themselves as 'lawmakers' as if all others like us are 'lawbreakers'.

There seems to be no end to politically correct euphemisms; so I thought why not try out some more for free:

1. mind workers: teachers

2. mind shirkers: students

3. mind benders: research guides

4. mind sellers: research scholars

5. pantry sharks: cooks

6. table wolves: waiters

7. sex byproducts: children

8. domestic opposition: mothers-in-law

9. midnight's children: Gen X, Y, Z Indians

10. anna dominees: Congress Spokesmen

11. fishplate minders: gangmen

12. head workers: coolies (porters)

13. leg workers: beat police

14. messengers: postmen

15. lathi wielders: Indian Police

16. lathi deprived: London Bobbies

17. disease spotters: physicians

18. scalpel experts: surgeons

19. mind cleaners: shrinks

20. sewage cleaners: municipal workers

21. dress cleaners: dhobis (washermen)

22. dress makers: tailors

23. footgear specialists: mochis (cobblers)

24. spanner throwers: bureaucrats

25. sex shirkers: wives

...I guess enough is enough..or never enough!

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Noise

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Our teacher of Sound defined Noise as disagreeable sound as opposed to agreeable Music.

That surely is a prime example of relativity...all modern music is unbearable to me and so is noise.

There was a news item the other day that surgeons perform better when classical music is on in the Operation Theater...thankfully the patient is under anesthesia {;-}

All I can say is that noise is natural and music artificial...in Nature...compare natural light and laser light. I haven't yet heard of naturally produced laser light in the Universe.

Electronics always fascinated me. This is because we had a very good Electronics Lab and a wonderful Teacher at our AU.

And when we switched on our Hartley Oscillator circuit after some Power Prayers, and with the twiddle of a pot the lovely monochromatic oscillations jump up on the oscilloscope screen and stay as steady as a rock, my wonder knew no bounds.

For we had applied a DC voltage of 400 volts and we got an AC voltage of 5 volts rms on the screen. And our Teacher beautifully explained it is all due to the inherent 'tube noise' in the circuit out of which the resonant element picks up the oscillations...no music without noise!!!

And I never had an aptitude for Math and bore it a grudge, as happens with anything you are forced to do for your living.

But Fourier Theorem was bewitching from the word 'go'.

For its physical applications.

And my Guru SDM told me that the great mathematicians of the day never believed the claim of Fourier that a totally discontinuous thing like a square wave can be built up by the addition of totally continuous functions like sines and cosines...of course the trick is that it requires an infinity of them.

And whenever I used to switch on my laser pointer and direct it on the screen of the Jumbo Class, I used to wonder how a DC battery cell can produce such a monochromatic affair like a laser beam. It just picks up that particular frequency and amplifies it dumping all the others.

And there is that 'noise' that gave Nobels for a couple of Radio Engineers for their achievement that eluded eminent Cosmologists like Dicke!!!

I watched with wonder that the proverbial maternal instinct is really true...for, my D-i-L Sailaja used to switch off the light in their bedroom where her months-old daughter Ishani used to sleep and close the door almost shut and watch a 'noisy' program on TV. But as soon as Ishani makes a wee squeak that eluded all of us, her mom would get up and run in...

Most of the time, not only in dreams but also in waking, our brain keeps making 'noise'. And only when need arises, it picks up 'signals' out of the noise.

Supratim calls these 'noisy signals' Power Blogs {;-}

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Power Writing

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English Workshop by British Council

Hyderabad: The British Council is offering an intensive workshop for aspiring professionals to develop their writing and speaking skills...These courses include international English, presentation skills and power writing..."

DC, Wednesday 24 August

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First it was power steering, then power play, then power nap, then power meditation (on a deerskin) and now power writing.

Here are some examples of Power Writing:

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Power Partnership: A mutually beneficial barter exchange of Lab Khata vis a vis Theory Sessionals

Power Ignorance: Teachers and students ignoring each other and behaving like strangers when they meet accidentally at the Canteen or even Harry's when they ought to have been together elsewhere

Power Outage: When a new teacher takes his Class in F-131 on a monsoon afternoon, the power goes off suddenly due to the manual switching off of the main switch located outside

Power Chase: When Prof Khanna wants to catch the culprit and chases him from Raman to Bhatnagar

Power Collision: When he collides with the DD and the culprit escapes

Power Encroachment: When the 1st hour teacher drags his class on for 15 minutes longer and the 2nd hour teacher barges in angrily

Power Prayer: When the two comely partners look up to the Heavens before switching on the Power and the chips burn one after the other serially

Power Documentation: Tarapado-da keeping a record in his lal khata the names, roll numbers and residential addresses of all the 4th year lab students for 30 years and more

Power Dropping: The simultaneous unintentional dropping on the floor of two neighboring answer scripts at a pre-arranged time

Power Invigilation: MSS slyly following students from the Exam Hall from Raman to the GG Bathroom and catching them talking

Power Viva: When GB asks the roll number and name and considers them as the first two questions

Power Cut: Also known in the 1960s as Mass Cut

Power Kindness: gps refusing to fail the student who begs him for a Supplementary or SQ

Power Farewell: When the Phy Dept invites mrs gps also to his fond farewell...fond on both sides...

Power Driving: When MBG (whose eyesight is next only to his hearing) drives the only jalopy in the campus in the 1960s, honking on an empty Salua Road continually till he hits the embankment of the Lover's Island

Power Transfer: When the written complaint about cockroaches in the sambar of Gokhale Hall (circa 1966) is forwarded to the Manager, Warden, Chairman HMC, Gymkahna President and finally the VP who trashes it

Power Recos: Reco Templates of gps which need only the name of the student to be changed

Power Stop: Also called Full Stop...like this (.)

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Kidstuff

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Trust Feynman to do the crazy thing.

We all know the story that when he was a mere boy, he poured petrol on his hand and lit it with a match stick. Nothing untoward happened to his hand because as he predicted the petrol, being highly volatile, evaporated and the vapors were engulfed by the flames without hurting his hand.

And he boasted of his prowess and gave a live demo a couple of years later. But this time his hand got singed like hell. Because, in those two years, his hand became manly and grew tiny hairs that acted like wicks and burned steadily...

When I was a kid in Class IX, I was hardly 4' tall, skeletal, but with arms and hands as strong as a featherweight champ's.

So, we had this subjunior event called 'pull ups'. And while every other kid was scoring 5 or 6, I asked our Drill Teacher to give me a leg-up to the cross bar. And as everyone was watching with astonishment, I went on and on crossing 50 and more till our Drill Teacher stopped me by holding my bottom.

Two years later, when I was in my School Final, the event was held once again on our Sports Day. This time, I jumped up and took hold of the cross bar by myself and, as everyone was watching for a repeat performance, I couldn't do even one pull up and after struggling for a minute, I gave up and dropped down like a sack of coal.

...I put on weight at all the wrong places like legs, chest, and torso in the intervening years playing foot ball, kabadi and such manly games...

When I was a tiny kid of 8, there was a play called Rickshawala being put up by our School on our Anniversary Day. It was a big do and our District Collector and his wife were the Special Guests. My seniors in their Final Years were playing all the major roles but needed a kid for a 3-minute Item Role as the son of the Rickshawala. And they roped me in. I went through the rehearsals easily enough; and when the Play was enacted in front of the whole Village, I walked in when my prompt came and did my bit and spoke the three lines...the bit required that I should cry and announce the death of the Rickshawala's wife. That suited me very well, because I was frightened of the crowd and crying came very naturally.

When all the prizes were announced and my seniors walked away with theirs given away by the wife of our Collector, she whispered something into the ears of her hubby. And then, my name was called and I was ushered on to the stage, still crying a bit. And the Collector announced a Special Prize for the Item Kid, put his hand in his pocket and brought out a crisp one rupee note. And his Mrs handed it over to me, hugging me lightly.

And a couple of years later, when I myself was a Senior and they roped me in for a big role, I made a mess of it and we lost badly...

So, apparently there is a time and tide for everything and it is not true that a man can easily do what a mere kid can.

So, in science...every revolutionary idea in Physics came from the likes of Fresnel, Maxwell, Einstein, Dirac, Heisenberg, Feynman...et al when they were but kids in science.


Matthew 21:16:

"...And said unto him, Hearest thou what these say? And Jesus saith unto them, Yea; have ye never read, Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings thou hast perfected praise?..."

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World-Class Teachers

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Today is Srikrishna Janmashtami here (Birthday of Srikrishna).

He is of course the Teacher Supreme.

You may ask me why.

First, he taught a Class of One (unlike the two that S Chandrasekhar did...they got their Prizes much before he did!).

Then again, when the student is not convinced with Theory, he gives a Demo, after which the student is stupefied...like when the Lissajous Figures suddenly come up on the screen of the Oscilloscope.

Again, at the end of 2.5 hours of Lec-Dem, he asks his student:

"Have you followed what all I have said? All doubts cleared?" (...otherwise I shall repeat the whole lesson).

Finally, he says that what all he has said was only for the immediate purpose of pushing his student into the Exam Hall...for, although the student, seeing the vast syllabus, is frightened, and asks for a Supple, he would have started writing the exam fretfully as soon as he starts tackling the first question.

To put it precisely, Krishna said at the end that although Arjun went into Severe Depression on seeing the assembled rival armies, his instinctive valor would have got the better of him as soon as the first conch is blown...like the proverbial war-horse.

When I was about 6, I was gifted a delightfully illustrated Children's Bhagavatam. I still recall the picture where the kids Krishna, Balaram and Sudama (Kuchela) sit down quietly in front of their teacher, Sandeepani:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sandipani

When I was about 8, one morning I was very restless and making lot of mischief. My Father, who was doing his Puja, called me to his side and asked me to bring a note book and pen. Squatting on the floor, he kept his rosary aside, took the pen and drew a matrix (maybe 5 X 7) and wrote down all the inflections of the word 'eat' in all tenses and voices.

And asked me to mug them up, thinking I would take half an hour.

But as he was writing them down, I was getting amazed at his felicity, and got so focused that I closed the note book after two minutes and repeated the Table flawlessly.

My love for English never looked back...Father was a great teacher.

When my son was in the Central School at KGP Campus, I used to hear of one Kabi Sir. He was a teacher of Math and was prone to temper and tantrums and scolding and beating his students. But my son, as well as every student of the School, used to love him and talk of him adoringly. I asked my son why so. He replied that any student who sits in Kabi Sir's Class when the Sir gets into his teaching mood, will never forget his lesson...no need to go home and read...

I was so impressed by this story that I was looking for an opportunity to meet him. And made an exception and went to the Teacher-Parent Meeting. And as my son's name was called and his script was taken up, I entered the room and spontaneously embraced Kabi Sir...he was in tears...

Similarly there was a Jha Sir whom my son used to love. He was teaching Biology (an unteachable subject). In particular, he was said to be superb in teaching Genetics of which I know nothing. But I was curious and made a point of meeting him and expressing my regard with a packet of sweets (my son came Zonal First in Biology and started his career in Bio-Informatics).

Since our mother tongue is so very different than Hindi, my son asked me to engage a home tutor for him. And wanted to be taught by a famous Mishra Sir. When I approached him he said he was sorry that he had stopped going forth to students' homes but would send his son, Mishrajee Junior.

I said ok...someone is better than none.

But when he started teaching my son in our Guest Room, I found myself lingering outside...he had such a lovely teaching voice that I envied him...and of course my son did well enough in Hindi.

And there was this tabla teacher of my son of whom I wrote in the blog:

http://gpsastry.blogspot.com/2009/10/tight-rope-walk.html

So, here is Three Cheers to World ClassTeachers!

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Environmental Epithets

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One lives and learns!

A decade ago I learned that 'sultry' can be applied to 'beauty' (naturally a Bengali model-turned actress rhyming with Pipasha...so thirsty):

'sultry beauty'

(switch on the fan!)

Today there is a new and cherished addition to my environmental vocabulary:

'smokey voice'

Dhoop!

So I thought why not try a few of my own:

1. dusty ears

2. sooty brows

3. glacial speech

4. icy brain

5. snowy mind

6. breezy sight

7. stormy nose

8. sweaty lips

9. wavy busts

10. azure attitude

11. volcanic love

12. equatorial girth

13. alpine figure

14. saline mouth

15. oceanic temper

16. rainbow emotions

17. sunny idiocy

18. wintry lust

19. autumnal eyes

20. hazy intellect

21. hot legs

22. cold feet

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You may think I gave you only 22 phrases

No, there are 22 epithets and 22 nouns

These can occur in any combination:

e.g. 'icy lips', 'hazy speech', 'breezy attitude'...

So, if my math is ok, you have 22 x 22 = 484 phrases.

Take them...they are all yours...free!

They all mean the same thing...or nothing very bright.


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Reluctant Performers

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Shashi Tharoor (of the 'cattle class' fame) writes well.

He doesn't need my certificate, but remember that I am the fearless kid who spoke up that the Emperor had no clothes, as far as English goes...I have no qualifications other than enjoyment.

Here is what he says in his latest weekly piece in DC titled: "Parliament: A curious Indian institution":

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"In the UK, there is a tradition by which a newly-elected Speaker has to be physically dragged to the chair by his colleagues, as if reluctant to assume such a heavy responsibility. That was one British practice we didn't emulate. Given what we put our Speakers through, perhaps it would have been more appropriate here!"

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This bit of curious reluctance led me to recall other such instances I read before.

Here is one from RKN's Ramayana:

"...In order to end a prolonged drought, the King of Anga was advised to get Rishya Sringa to visit his country, since it always rained in his proximity; but they knew that on no account would he consent to leave his mountain retreat. While the King was considering how to solve the problem, a bevy of beauties offered their services and went forth in search of this young sage. They reached his hermitage, found him alone, and enticed him away to Anga. He had never seen any human being except his father, and could not make out what these creatures were, when the damsels from Anga surrounded him. But given time for instinct to work, he became curious and abandoned himself to their care. They represented themselves as ascetics, invited him to visit their hermitage, and carried him away. (In Mysore State at Kigga, four thousand feet above sea level, a carving on a temple pillar shows the young recluse being carried off on a palanquin made of the intertwined arms of naked women)..."

Oye!

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And of course every reader of RKN and Bollywood buffs know the Reluctant Saint (Sadhu) of the Guide.

But RKN also wrote a piece titled: Reluctant Guru in the Collection "A Writer's Nightmare" (To Sir, With Love, Aniket Basu, June 19, 1999):

"When I accepted an invitation to become a Visiting Professor at a certain mid-Western University, I had had no clear notion as to what it meant. I asked myself again and again what does a Visiting Professor do. I also asked several of my friends in the academic world the same question. No one could give me a concrete and convincing answer and so I contented myself with the thought that a Visiting Professor just visits and professes and if he happens to be in the special category of 'D.V.P' (Distinguished Visiting Professor) he also tries to maintain and flourish his distinguished qualities. Well, all that seemed to suit me excellently.

...So, on the first morning, I reported to myself at the English Department of the University. The Chairman of the Department who had arranged my visit was a distinguished scholar and critic, who, among other things, had also made a detailed, deep study of my writing.

I asked him what I should do now and he kept asking in his turn what I would like to do, the only definite engagement for the day he was aware of being that I was to be photographed at two o'clock. I sat brooding..."

**************************************************************************************************************

The Campus of IIT KGP was heaven to me. I was the proverbial Lotus Eater there. And I used to wonder what would happen to Harrys if I don't visit the joint even for a day. And I refused to leave it except when inevitable.

One fine morning when I was dozing in the Seminar Room reluctantly assisting a Grand Viva, the P&T Chap came in and handed me an Express Telegram from Delhi:

"You are invited to participate in setting the Question Paper in Physics for XXXX Examination between 30 December and 3 January. Travel and accommodation will be arranged. Wire acceptance...bla bla bla..."

This was news to me since I never participated in any one of these affairs except inter-IIT things; and couldn't figure out how my name of all folks ended up in their list.

I didn't want to go...but wanted a decent alibi so that the Ministry of HRD wouldn't get offended.

I asked my friend in the Administration how to get out of it. And, he suggested that since I was only an Assistant Professor drawing a meager Rs.1400 pm, I was not entitled for airfare which needs a minimum salary of Rs. 1800. So, he asked me to wire:

"Can come only if flight is permitted...bla bla bla",

hoping that the iron-clad bureaucracy would fall silent and invite the next man in the panel.

But within a couple of hours came the reply:

"Airfare permitted as a special case. Wire arrival details...bla bla bla"

I then cursed my friend and replied:

"Suffering from a sudden attack of chest pain and heartache and advised rest for a month...sorry for the trouble...bla bla bla..."

The matter didn't end there.

A fortnight later I got a phone call from a Professor-friend at IISc Bangalore cursing me:

"I took the trouble to do you a favor and influenced the Chairman of XXXX to include your name in the panel; and he scolded me today and blacklisted ME!"

I then narrated to him Damayanti's retort to King Nala:

"What is the use of offering a pot of ghee to a man who is terribly thirsty?"

Apparently it didn't go well...sigh!

==========================================================================

Lover of Physics

=========================================================================

About a month back, an anonymous reader asked me to write up my experiences with Professor G. S. Sanyal.

And I promised to do it after August 18th, the Diamond Jubilee Foundation Day of IIT KGP:

http://gpsastry.blogspot.com/2011/07/gss.html

And today is August 19th...day of pleasant reckoning.

If you Google for "Prof G. S. Sanyal" you get 1250 hits...without quotes, but with iitkgp, you get ten times that number.

So, why should I add my farthing?

Because he happens to be the ONLY one at IIT KGP (this includes HNB and SDM) whose feet I touched, 5 good years after I retired from KGP.

The man is a marvel.

**************************************************************************************************************

When I joined IIT KGP in 1965, GSS was a presence in our Dept. So I thought he was a Faculty of Physics. I came to know later that he was a Senior Professor in ECE, but was teaching the Final Course of Electromagnetic Theory for our newfangled M Sc Course by invitation from HNB.

And he was a good two decades older to me and forbiddingly dressed up always, with an inescapable necktie, summer, rains or winter.

And it so happened that HNB put me through EM1, EM2, EM3 and finally EM4 (GSS's course) serially on the Reco of his daughter Seema as she progressed...

And so I was like an EM Omnibus in the Dept and flipped through practically all books on the subject in the Central Library.

The first time GSS happened to speak to me was 20 years later...in the interview I appeared for the Professor's post. He was the Director then and so Chairman of the Selection Committee, which consisted of two External Experts in Physics and the Visitor's Nominee (a Chemist). Generally the Director introduces the candidate and double-checks his CV and hands the goat over to the eager Experts.

But, when I entered the Board Room, I found GSS rubbing his hands gleefully and dashed off with:

"You are a man of EM and I too am a man of EM...tell me the answer to this..."

Well, that was good news to me.

In between, he went out of the Board Room for a few minutes during which the other sharks tried to gobble me up...but he was back again...

After my interview was over, my friend NP who was waiting outside led me to the scooter stand. And there was this Senior Professor of the embryonic Biotech unlocking his cycle. He came forward to me, shook my hands and congratulated me.

I was surprised because we never spoke to each other before.

He explained saying that it was he who pulled GSS out of the Board Room for some important signatures and GSS was in a hurry to get back saying:

"That young man is answering everything very well and I want to rush back..."

*************************************************************************************************************

A few months later he retired from Directorship, and was made the Chairman of the newly started STEP, in the good Old Building now housing the formidable CTS.

Then on, I used to get calls from him every now and then to go to his Office to discuss all aspects of Physics, from Lasers to GPS (not me!).

And while trying to answer his queries, I learned a lot of Physics myself.

This is because he was a Radio Engineer by training but had a deep love for Physics. This always happens...if someone is not in your line but asks questions out of love, you find that answering him calls for a different set of skills...you can't use jargon and get away.

I then found that he wanted to publish in a good Physics Journal and was going about it in his own way.

And once he said he had so many questions that it would be better if I give him time in my Qrs. And my wife welcomed the opportunity and made some delicious dal vadas especially for the occasion.

Interestingly, before he got his Paper in Physics, he made me write a monograph on Lasers by compiling answers to his queries on the subject.

And when my wife and I landed up at KGP almost 5 years after my leaving KGP on retirement we found him in his Office and he gifted me the reprint of his Paper in a well-known Physics Journal.

Token of his love for the subject.

And I left Physics as soon as I could and had gifted him my token of love for English...my SDM Homage:

********************************************************************************************************

"Dear Prof. Sastry,

Thanks a lot for your e-mail of October 02, 2007 enclosing a copy of an article written by you on Late Prof. S. Datta Majumdar. The article is very nice, full of information and top class humour. I shall read it again and again.

It is difficult for me to respond through e-mail. Telephone is much easier. My office number is +91 - 3222 - 283882 (F.N. / A.N. on working days). Of course, as you know, I have to go out of room once in a while. Kindly send your telephone number also.

With very best wishes to you and all members of your family.

Sincerely yours,

G. S. Sanyal

=========================================================================

Nonlinearity

==========================================================================

The guy is cool with words...he ought to have been a Teacher (@ IIT KGP).

'Teaching Moment': I wish I had coined that cute phrase.

And then the 'Sputnik Moment'.

Though he wasn't even born when Sputnik went up there...ask me...I heard the beep beep beep live on our creaking croaking humming sputtering Murphy radio set.

Those who hadn't heard it and seen its groggy American reaction can only be taught by similes.

Saying America was caught with her panties down would be facile.

The floors of our Apartment Complex here are paved with vitrified tiles. First time I saw or heard of them. You can just say that they are glass tiles...as smooth as someone's cheeks which was later denied by her admirer.

So, the other day I went over to the Car Wash Office in our ground floor (we have two cars and a bike to be washed everyday) to settle their hyperbolic bill. The dame seated at her table was kind to this senior citizen and asked me to take the chair opposite her while she fiddled with her mouse.

I pulled the swivel chair back, stepped up front and sat...only to discover that the chair had caster wheels and went into a silent retreat to the other wall.

And found myself plumb on the floor...with a totally unanticipated thud.

That about describes the American reaction to the Sputnik...just floored...

We urchins who used to take sides: "Do you support America or Russia?" had a field day watching the knock-out punch.

NASA was nowhere and the few American Space attempts till then met with televised disaster.

And Sputnik 1 was followed by Sputnik 2 carrying an unfortunate live passenger successfully.

Down and Out!

The aftermath in America was that Feynman and Purcell were asked to teach Physics to their undergraduates...a Teaching Moment...

But look what happened...

3 decades later, Berlin Wall was torn down and the collapse of the mighty Soviet Empire started in right earnest.

Seers predicted the event and attributed it to the Communication Satellites that regularly broadcast TV images of how the other half lives, deep into the recesses behind the Iron Curtain...iron just melted away.

Russia built the first ICBM-capable rocket R-7. Perfectly sensible militarily.

But the rulers wanted propaganda...and since they can't very well demonstrate their nuclear-capable ICBM with a live test over the American Mainland (as the Yankees did to Japan in the hot-war as opposed to the colder variety), they urged their rocket scientists to launch the Sputnik thing in one month flat.

And the next one a month later to celebrate the 40th Anniversary of the Bolshevik Revolution.

Overkill!

And sort of a benign Frankenstein Monster.

Something similar happened to America half a century later.

The digital descendants of the Facit mechanical calculating machine (that I used in my UG lab at Vizagh) were put to grotesque use by the Americans.

They should have been used for research beneficial to mankind...like in the production of the first atom bomb {;-}

But they used these super-duper computers to produce fake finance computations and landed up in the sub-prime crisis that sent the US Economy into a tailspin...even now.

Another Teaching Moment for Theoretical Physicists...they were the first employees to be booted out of the Investment Banks:

http://gpsastry.blogspot.com/2009/02/ladies-firstwhen-tiger-knocks.html

Any effort that has unintended effects can be said to be nonlinear.

I am told by my nonlinear friends that a butterfly deciding to flap its wings in the garden of my C1-97 Qrs at KGP can trigger a hurricane in Florida.

Some butterfly that!!!

News & Views

N: Home Minister's home burgled

V: Highly nonlinear...

===========================================================================

Effect & Cause

************************************************************************************************

http://opinionsandexpressions.files.wordpress.com/2008/11/food-myths.gif

Many readers of my Ishani booklets belonging to my extended family wonder (aloud) why my Father appears frequently in my pieces, but not my mom.

There is a reason for this.

I empathize with my Father, although he used to thrash me justifiably on a daily basis during my naughty boyhood. And I disagreed with his policies almost always, except for his Truthfulness which I admire. Even while getting beaten up, I could sense he was essentially a weak character (since he used to inwardly feel sorry after the event...kids know). He was trapped between conflicting ideals...a Gandhian sans his non-violence...while I abhor violence, verbal, physical and emotional. So, I always used to feel forgivingly superior to him.

But my mom is a very strong character and I feel inferior to her. Her strength comes from her firm convictions...she never has any doubts.

And the basis of her convictions is her incomparable command over microcausality ...she has an explanation for everything that happens. 

What I mean by microcausality is a modified and twisted theory of Karma and her strong grasp of it within her cupped hands.

Let me explain.

When I told her I had to cancel my tickets to Gudur since I got laid up with herpes joster, she at once said that it was because I booked my tickets on a Saturday...everyone knows (except philistines like me) that Saturdays and Tuesdays are inauspicious for booking tickets to South-East.

My problem with her is that although I might agree with her, I would have loved it if she had expressed some sort of sympathy for my herpes which anyone who had it knows. Her logic always gets the better of her sentiments. She is so adamantly scientific in her dealings.

So, I thought why not ask her beforehand to fix a suitable date and time for our Final Journey from KGP to Gudur after retirement...who knows?

She consulted her calender, almanac, my horoscope, and my son's and wife's and fixed October 28. I also asked her and booked the tickets on a day and time considered auspicious by her.

It bombed.

After seeing off the luggage in a mighty truck, we were trapped in the Guest House at KGP for a week because there was a mighty cyclone with what the weathermen fondly called a rare 'earth-worm depression' extending from Chennai to Calcutta. Our train got canceled and we had to finally fly to Hyderabad since Chennai airport was closed.

And I sank into depression, not of the weather variety but the mental thing.

Ten months later when I met her at Gudur, and tried confronting her microcausal science, she smiled and replied:

"I knew you would ask this taunting question and looked up the almanac and found that your date and time of dispatch of your luggage truck were completely screwed up because Rahu was looking down maliciously at you."

Ladies can be pretty convincing with their logic...

All this came up today because there is a charming Independence Day news item in DC:

The lady CM of Tamilnadu is the smartest of all politicians I have seen...and I include poor Indirajee in this list.

Here is the news item:

"The TN CM avoided the inauspicious rahukalam to hoist the national tricolour at 9.30 am, an hour behind the time nationally followed for the solemn cermony.

The rahukalam falls between 7.30 am and 9 am on Monday and religious persons usually avoid doing anything important during this time. Since this is the first Independence Day after coming to power, the Chief Minister did not wish to hoist the tricolour during rahuklam, sources said.

They said the public department in the secretariat had sent a communication to all the district collectors a couple of days back instructing them to hoist the flag at 9.30 am and not the usual 8.30 am."

My mom would beat any lady CM hands down any day...since she also knows all about varjyam, yamagandam, vaarashula, tarabalam, chandrabalam and more...

I salute her as I always lose to her...my faith in my Physics never equaled hers in her causality... 


...Posted by Ishani
*****************************************************************************************************

Sealed Units

==========================================================================

The ultimate sealed unit of Mother Nature is a coconut.

I had no end of trouble with it in my childhood.

It is like this:

Ganesh Puja is a very auspicious and homely festival for us. We wake up early in the morning and do all preparations for the elders to make the Puja successful, but don't get even an idli for breakfast. For, we are told that sumptuous marks await us in the exams if we fast till the Puja is over and the entire goodies like payas, vadas and lemon rice are first offered to the hungry Ganeshjee.

And for Puja to begin we had to wait for the Village Pundit to arrive and preside over the Puja with all sorts of mantras and tantras. And the chap would never come to our house before 1 PM. Reason: he has half a dozen other houses to attend and perform. And my Father being a Sanskrit scholar, would make him do everything right, criticizing him every once in a while. So, the Puja in our house would take him an hour while the other laymen are happy to let him go away (and gorge) in ten minutes...I never understood why Father needed the services of a Pundit...he could very well do it himself (as I do nowadays in our home, Ishani permitting)...I guess it is an ego issue...

Anyway, the last rite of the Puja is breaking the coconut. And as Father broke it with one expert hit, he would discover it is rotten from within (coconuts are great impostors).

Now, Father can't get up since he is the Officiating Brahmin...and the Pundit couldn't care less. So, the only available male was me. And Father would hand me the two coconut halves, command me to go to our Grocer, show him how rotten his stuff was and ask for a free replacement...and you know what happens...a kid can't argue with a mustachioed bania and I would return empty-handed; and wink at my mom to come outside with a four anna coin without Father's knowledge. And she would delve into her reserves and oblige.

And I would run in the hot sand and fetch the new one, mumbling some excuse to Father why I was so late.

And pray that the new one is not as rotten as the earlier...ha! If only kids' prayers were answered I would have been married a couple of decades earlier.

Same story here in Hyderabad with wayside green coconut vendors. I would ask the moochwalah to give me one with lots of sweet water but no malai. He would go about pretending to test a couple or more with the back of his sickle expertly (like a house surgeon with his knee-hammer) and choose one for me...and punch a hole in it, insert a straw in it nonchalantly, and hand it over. And it would taste as salty as brine or as tasteless as distilled water; and would be over in two sips...

Mother Nature, I am told by astrophycisits, has another perfectly sealed unit.

They call it a Black Hole.

Our Nobel-wining nephew went into rhapsodies singing the beauty of black holes, saying it is the epitome of mathematical perfection since it has at most three features (like our height, weight and sex). These are its Mass, Spin and Charge. Knowing which you know everything about it...which is not much.

If I order a Black Hole and get it, I would like to break it like a coconut to see its innards, how it looks, smells, tastes; what its history was, how many stars and galaxies it devoured, what were their names, whether any planets like ours had gone in...in short its whole Attitude.

But nothing happens...at least classically like for SC.

For most men (other than Sharatbabu), women (I mean married women) are sealed units...no way of knowing what goes on in their ripe coconuts...they throw up nasty surprises all the time...but cheer up...here is the latest buzz:

*************************************************************************************************************

DC (Independence Day) News Item (I quote verbatim hoping you haven't read it):

Women gossip for 5 hours a day
(with photo)

London, Aug 15

Women never change it seems. The average female spends five hours a day gossiping---whether at home or at work, a new survey has found.

According to the British survey, women chatter for 298 minutes daily--in fact discussing other people's problems, who's dating who and other people's children form the basis of most chats; other subjects cropping up regularly are sex, shopping and soaps.

The Survey also found that women spend 24 minutes a day discussing their weight, diet and dress size. One third say they spend a chunk of their day discussing what they are eating for lunch, while a quarter regularly exchange recipes.

Other topics include what cosmetic surgery procedures they would like, what the mother-in-law has said, and which celebrities they fantasise about. Those with friendly neighbours spend nearly half-an-hour a week having a gossip or moan together.....PTI

************************************************************************************************************

I guess the respondents were just bragging to impress us...

==========================================================================

Green Kids

==========================================================================

Two news items in DC today (Independence Day) took me back to my childhood in my Village in the early 1950s:

1. (with photo) "Students campaign for eco-friendly idols":

Ganesh Puja will be here presently. The photo shows a group of school kids each showing off a clay-Ganeshjee in their hands. Apparently there is a thing here called National Green Corps of over three lakh school kid volunteers promoting its ideals.

It is almost like going round a circle and getting to the beginning.

On Ganesh Chathurthi every year, a dozen of us youngsters used to wake up before dawn and trek to the woods hunting for patri (leaves) and phool (flowers) of 21 varities each.

And on our return, we used to buy for next to nothing a clay idol each from a roadside vendor. The idol was almost wet and we had to dry it in the sun for an hour.

The clay (mud) used to be collected from the Village Tank bottom, cleaned and all that one had to do was to keep it in a 'press' (die) and squeeze out the water. Presses used to be sold cheap and if you could buy one, you have your own home-made Ganeshjee. There were no frills...just an elephant's head and human torso, with a mouse beside.

The day after the Puja, we used to go forth again in a batch to the tank and drop the idol in it. The only thing is that after the Puja, the idol looked almost alive, what with the various patri, phool, kumkum, haldi, cotton dress, decorated forehead...almost like the Durgamai on Vijayadasami (so full of life).

While till last year in Hyderabad, the idols were as hard as cement painted with rainbow colors and...gaudy...and costly...

The Puja made them look worse...

2. "Swadeshi soap worries MNCs"

"...Mahatma Gandhi used a handful of salt to shake an empire in 1930. Now, the humble toilet soap 'Swadeshi' of the Gandhi Centre for Rural Development is giving the shivers to multinationals..."

Apparently there is a boom (almost 26% of the soap market) in Kerala for the Swadeshi soap. Around 1 lakh people across the state are making Swadeshi soaps in their homes with raw materials supplied by the GCRD. They are made from coconut oil from the coconut trees for which Kerala is renowned. They use natural perfumes and retain the glycerin, leaving the skin feeling smooth after a bath.

Well, in our Village there were no soaps at all...Videshi or Swadeshi.

But I can proudly say that some of my lady cousins had the most fabulous skin-glow that comes only from great health and upkeep.

They had only home-made cleansers. First they would apply liberal doses of pure til (sesame) oil all over their skin and let it soak for 15 minutes. Then they would apply a home-made powder whose precise composition is a family secret. I guess the main ingredient of the powder is dal (green gram with skin). And maybe a bit of rice. And several perfumed roots. And haldi (turmeric) sticks. All of these are dry-ground.

This powder soaks the oil and diffuses into the skin. And after rubbing it on their skins they cleanse themselves with buckets of warm water.

There was no shampoo...only 'soapnut juice' (it burns the eyes if you don't close them).

Time that secrets are let out and commercial products are launched...but I guess the formulas are as extinct as our great-grand-parents...

=========================================================================

Spin-Orbit Coupling

====================================================================

Let me talk some Physics (before it is too late):

This is about the historically significant semi-classical paradox of spin-orbit coupling and its resolution.

Let us take the simplest hydrogen atom. It has a proton with a charge e sitting in an inertial frame called the lab. And an electron of charge e circulating around the proton.

Seen from the proton frame, there is an electric field produced by the proton which interacts with the electron charge. This leading first order term in the Hamiltonian gives the Hydrogen spectrum without the fine structure.

The fine structure is explained by the spin-orbit coupling: the electron has a tiny magnetic moment which interacts with the proton field.

Now, in the rest frame of the proton (lab) the proton produces only an electric field at the site of the electron (forget the tiny proton magnetic moment which gives the hyperfine splittings).

And this electric field can't interact with the magnetic moment of the orbiting electron.

So, they jumped to the electron frame. Here the proton circulates about the electron. The orbiting proton's charge produces a magnetic field at the site of the electron. This magnetic field interacts with the magnetic moment of the electron giving the spin-orbit term in the Hamiltonian. But if we put the experimentally observed value of the anomalous magnetic moment of the electron (taken from the Zeeman splittings) there is a factor of 2 which spoils the fine structure.

So, Thomas observed that the electron frame to which we jumped is not an inertial frame, since the electron is undergoing a centripetal acceleration.

He then showed that in such an accelerating frame there is what we now call the Thomas Precession.

If we take this second order relativistic term into account, we get a compensating factor of 2 which nicely explains the observed fine structure.

On seeing this Einstein remarked that it is wonder that a second-order relativistic correction gives a mighty factor of 2 (instead of a a decimal term).

Then came Dirac who worked in the lab frame of the proton.

In his fully quantum theory, there is no anomalous magnetic moment...the factor of 2 vanishes, giving its right value.

Also there is no need to jump frames and no need of any Thomas Precession term.

Both the factors of 2 vanish giving the right Zeeman splittings and the right fine structure marvelously.

Let us now get back to our semi-classical thing.

If something like a fine structure can be observed in the electron frame, it should also be observed in the proton frame (inertial lab).

What is it that we missed?

In the proton frame there is only its electric field. This electric field can't interact with the electron's magnetic moment as we have seen above.

But the electron is circulating about the proton. And it is a magnetic dipole.

A moving magnetic dipole creates an electric dipole, if we remember our special relativity correctly.

It is this relativistic second order electric dipole that gives the coupling with the electric field of the proton at the site of the circulating electron.

So, the spin-orbit term between the electric field of the proton and the relativistically induced electric dipole moment of the electron should give us the right fine structure without the need of jumping to the electron frame and invoking the Thomas term as was done historically.

To my knowledge, this beautiful point is discussed only in an obscure fat Russian Book titled: 'Problems in Electrodynamics' by V. V. Batygin and I. N. Toptygin. Only one copy of this excellent book was available in the CL of IIT KGP.

Why is it excellent?

Because it also has Solutions {;-}

The book is out of print.

I returned it to the CL upon my retirement to get my Library 'no-dues' for getting my pension which unfortunately I needed very badly...


====================================================================

Moon & Tuppence

=========================================================================

I guess everyone loves to be enigmatic once in a while.

At 14 (height 4' 6", weight 75 lbs) I entered the imposing portals of the Andhra University at Waltair (Vizagh), fresh from a moffusil college in Ponnur, where the language of instruction pretended to be English.

During those decades, AU was supposed to be the abode of gentlemen: meaning you speak in English (till you make friends, when you will stoop to your lowbrow mother tongue), you wear starched clothes and shoes, and most importantly, talk of Maugham as your best friend with whom you are on first name terms.

It was all bewildering to me.

Never heard of Maugham. But within a week, I was pleasantly surprised to discover in my MD Uncle's bookcase two of Maugham's books: Of Human Bondage, and Moon and Sixpence (he was too busy to open them...they were unthumbed). The former was a huge affair so I gave it a miss, and tried tackling the moony thing.

That was the first unabridged adult novel I read (without the benefit of a Dictionary...I wanted to get it over with quickly enough to boast that I read it cover to cover). I must say I could make out the rough plot and about 20% of the details...the only thing I dreamed of was the Tahiti Island.

Next morning I spoke about it with our topnotch classmate. He nodded his head approvingly. And said Maugham missed his Nobel because he was considered a 'cynic' (I didn't know what cynic was).

And then I told him I couldn't follow the meaning of the title. And asked him what it meant. He gave a knowing smile and said that his opinion wouldn't help me and I have to figure it out myself.

Kids are blessed with far more intuition than we credit them with...every teacher knows it although many don't admit it.

Anyway, I realized at once that this chap was blustering and in all probability he never read the book...which he confessed in our third year when we became chums.

Anything romantic to do with moon is bakwas...ask our Apollo astronauts.

Take honeymoon. It is neither as sweet as honey nor as rocky as the moon.

If you think that Hotel Bluemoon would always be a 5-star affair you are mistaken...I know a few whose beds are fighting arenas for lizards and cockroaches.

Talking of romantic names, we just visited the apartment block where we had booked our 'home' a couple of years back. It is now ready for 'possession'.

It is called the 'Nile Valley' Apartments.

It is nothing of the sort. You have to climb a rocky hill to reach it. There is no water body nearby. And not a blade of grass grew there before they planted some bamboo saplings...and fetched tons of water in tankers.

And they call it Nile Valley!!!

There is another gated township coming up and they call it 'Space Station', merely because it is a 30-floor affair...that is their concept of 'space'.

There is another called 'Sarovar'. And the inmates tell me that the only sarovar there is a nearby pond which belongs to none and so stinks to the 18th floor. They very much wish to drain it away and close it but can't. And hordes of mosquitoes travel up the lift like so many stowaways.

Words should be transparent.

For instance when I read the word 'treacle' first, maybe in Alice, I knew it would be gooey. And for 'gooey' I never consulted any dictionary.

Here is a description of Nino's no-nonsense kid Albertino (9):

**************************************************************************************************************
"...Albertino is only nine years old, but he manages himself very independently. He is reticent and dignified and, in talking to me he limits himself to essentials. In the course of a week when he was particularly loquacious, I remember hearing his voice three times. Monday morning he came into my study and said: 'The coffee's boiling over.' Thursday evening, after supper, he raised his head from the book he was carrying with him to ask: 'What are "antipodes"?' And Saturday, before going away with his mother for the summer, he said, 'Good morning!'.

...A few minutes later Albertino came in.

'A boy in my class says you write books,' he told me.

i admitted this was true.

'I'd like to read them,' said Albertino.

This was something totally unexpected. And my surprise made me feel almost guilty.

'They're right there on the second bookshelf,' i answered trying to be calm.

Albertino looked at the books on the second shelf one by one, while I subjected my conscience to a strict examination. No, even in my earliest works, there was nothing unsuited to a nine-year-old.

'Can I take this one?' he asked me.

..The following evening, while I was dozing in my study, Albertino came in. He had my book in his hand, and after he had put it back in place on the second shelf he started to go away.

'Have you finished it already?' I asked him.

'Yes,' he said, 'It's in big print, so it didn't take long.'

And he said nothing more..."

********************************************************************************************************

Well, this world is bristling with Albertinos alright...my son who is all of 30 is yet to open any of my Ishani booklets...



=========================================================================

Sun n' Sand

=======================================================================

Most of my schooling was in the seaside village Muthukur.

The land there was sandy. And we played in the sand as if we were camels. Sand gets tremendously hot in sun. But cools down fast. So, in summer, we had to wait till evening (we never had any footwear). But days are long in summer, so we did get our quota of games. And these were typically kabadi-kind.

In the rains, sand gets soaked so much that it gets as hard as a rock. We could then play ball games like football. And races.

I then shifted to Ponnur for my one-year Pre-University. The land there was black cotton soil. Mostly clay. This is the very opposite of sand. In the rains, it gets so glutinous that your feet dig into it and every effort has to be made to pull it out step after step. Walking is a punishment; and cycling is even worse. So, we had to take long detours to find dry patches. Any kind of outdoor play was out of the question.

But in summer it gets as hard as rock and all sorts of field games were a delight. I learned cycling there. The land was so fertile that an acre of it cost thrice its Muthukur cousins.

When I was just a kid, we lived in the village, Atmakur, for a year. All that I recall is that it was rocky. There was a hillock right in the midst of the village and we used to climb it to hunt and collect golies made of rock by Mother Nature. They were perfectly spherical and came in all sizes. The place would have been a treasure for students of geology. It appears that when broken rocks are beaten by hostile weather like rain and wind and sun their angularities are rounded...like toothless old men {;-}

From Ponnur I shifted to the University town of Visakhapatnam for 7 years.

This is a unique place. It has sea on one side with a vast stretch of sandy beach where we used to hang around. When we got bored with sea, we used to walk inland where there were as many hillocks as you wish with verdant greenery, mini-waterfalls, huge trees and temples.

We had the best of both worlds.

Listen to our Autocrat on sea vs mountains:

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--The sea remembers nothing.  It is feline.  It licks your feet,--its huge flanks

purr very pleasantly for you; but it will crack your bones and eat you, for all

that, and wipe the crimsoned foam from its jaws as if nothing had happened.

The mountains give their lost children berries and water; the sea mocks their

thirst and lets them die. The mountains have a grand, stupid, lovable

tranquillity; the sea has a fascinating, treacherous intelligence.  The

mountains lie about like huge ruminants, their broad backs awful to look

upon, but safe to handle.  The sea smooths its silver scales until you cannot

see their joints,--but their shining is that of a snake's belly, after all.--In deeper

suggestiveness I find as great a difference.  The mountains dwarf mankind

and foreshorten the procession of its long generations.  The sea drowns out

humanity and time; it has no sympathy with either; for it belongs to eternity,

and of that it sings its monotonous song forever and ever.



Yet I should love to have a little box by the seashore. 

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Then I shifted to KGP for the next 40 years.

The place is a jungle or forest, as you like. It is a paradise for bird-lovers, tree-lovers and bug-lovers. But it has no great water body nearby where one can sit and get lost in the infinite. But it used to have a glorious night-sky during monsoons since we used to have all-night power cuts. Not nowadays I think.

Now I am in Hyderabad...full of boulders and rock formations. And crumbling palaces. We do have a vast water body right in the midst of the city...Hussain Sagar...but it stinks.

And in any case I am too old to stir out. Deccan Chronicle and Times of India are my windows on the city.

Mix sand, clay (cement) and rocks (gravel) and I guess you get roadside concrete...like my head {;-}

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Chutzpah

US: "Don't crush Anna's campaign"

India: "Mind your debt"


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Ignomenclature

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The buzz in Hyderabad is that a new house-numbering system is on.

Hm!

The house we rented earlier where we lived for 3 years had the number:

6-3-592/21/8-9

I could never remember it. This is just the number. Then came the locality. Here we were very fortunate. This apartment block is on the boundary between a rather upstart neighborhood called Venkataramana Colony and a low-brow Erramanzil (a distortion of the Urdu Irram Manzil).

When they came down for Ganesh Puja subscriptions we used to say that we are in Erramanzil and get away with Rs 10 say. On the other hand when we wish to impress our visitors, we would say, oh, we live in Venkataramana Colony, you know.

And if it is the bride's party to be impressed we would say: "Off-Banjara Hills" hoping for a good dowry...just joking...we never demanded dowry...they used to press it on us and we were too polite to refuse...otherwise they would suspect something wrong with our bridegroom like an earlier affair.

In addition we had confusion about our PIN code.Some said it was 500 482 and others 500 082. One day I asked our postman. He refused to take sides, but insisted on his mamool whenever he delivered the Life Certifcate blank.

All this reminds me of the Readers Digest joke where the line dividing Russia and Siberia originally passed right through a house; which was sitting like a pole on the real axis. The authorities asked the resident whether he wished to be in Russia or Siberia; like the indentation in the contour be clockwise or counterclockwise.

Apparently he thought for a minute and voted to be in Russia, citing that Siberia is too cold.

The worst house numbering system is of course the Qrs of IIT KGP. For one thing they are not serial as we go along the street, as expected by any reasonable layman. No, they are numbered according to the date by which their construction was completed, rather chronologically.

If you expected that C-97 would be next to C-98, you are mistaken...it may be at the other end of the campus. But, this system has its advantage: if you are offered a choice between C-16 and C-144, you know that the earlier one is dilapidated and has (as Pratik says) walls with holes big enough to see if the paan shop is open or closed.

But I have known new visitors arriving after 10 PM in a rickshaw from the Rly Station giving up their quest after an hour of hunting around and settling down for the night on the pavement of the Tech Market till daybreak...the rickshaw chap charging by the minute of 'waiting time'.

The young ones reading this blog may ask: "Why can't they use their cell-phones?"

I have to then remind them of Marie Antoinette's innocent query about her subjects starved of bread: "Why can't they eat cake?"

IIT Qrs, for all I know in 1965, were like the French waiting for their Alphanumeric Revolution which is yet to happen... we didn't have our Madam Defarge.

Talking of Mary, I had a lot of trouble keeping track of the several Marys when I first read the New Testament. Also Johns and Josephs.

And there were a couple of Marys in British History too...one of them fondly called Bloody Mary (also a cocktail and an unspeakable thing in Chile).

It was only when I browsed through the Complete Works of Shakespeare (a copy of which PGW found very useful as a pillow in his war-room) that I came to know there were one too many Richards, Georges, Henrys and their namesakes who ruled Britain and us too. And a couple of Elizabeths.

When a knowing person asked me my wife's name he replied:

"Oh, Madhwas?...it has to be either Radha or Rukmini"

He was right....there are at least half a dozen Rukminis who are all my relatives by marriage and they figure themselves out as: Big, Medium, Small, Soft, Hard, Supersoft...much like Colgate Toothbrushes.

I got zero marks in a question of Social Studies in School when I wrote that Indira Gandhi was the daughter-in-law of Mahatma Gandhi.

When I was first traveling to Visakhapatnam alone at the age of 14, I was given a trump-advice by one who knew: "When you are stranded in any Restaurant and the waiters all ignore you, call politely: Mr Appa Rao!...and you will see at least two of them give you service with a smile."

It worked. That town is the abode of the local god, Appala Narsimha Swami. So, every other son is Appa Rao and daughter Appalamma.

But in Hyderabad, there is another Narasimha Swami at Yadagiri Gutta. So, if you are stranded here, simply call: "Yadayya!" and you will eat cake.

And nearby there is the Bhadradri Rama temple. So, if Yadayya doesn't respond, call: "Ramulu!"

In Nellore District it is Subba Rao or Subbamma. There is a Subrahmanya Swami temple nearby.

In Tirupati it is Venkayya or Balajee.

Telugus who lived in Benares would always name their first daughter: Annapurna and their son: Viswanath (also Kashiviswanath if there is any confusion).

My father was christened G. Radhakrishnaiah since he was the last of four and they had already named the three earlier ones as: G. V. Subbaramayya, G. Venkatesayya and G. V. Subrahmanyam (V for Venkata as in C. V. Raman and S for Subramanya as in S. Chandrasekhar).

Yet my faher was unlucky. There was another classmate of his with the same name G. Radhakrishnaiah who was a year older to my father and so the School Writer exchanged their dates of birth. And my father found out that he was retiring a year earlier and was going to pieces. They said that my father had to hunt the other guy and get a no-objection affidavit from him. Luckily the other one was a well-to-do merchant whose son was in the school where my father was a HM.

When my son wanted to name his daughter Ishani, I was thinking she would be treated as a hilsa-bhaat Bengali. But my daughter-in-law expanded the name as:

G. Ishani

I was sure there is no other "G. Ishani" in this world.

Till I Googled...


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