==============================================================
If you lived a Lifetime of Teaching in the Good Old Days (like me) you are condemned to read thousands of handwritings most unwillingly.
This is because Evaluation of Answer Scripts is the worst part of Teaching.
The flop side (as opposed to the flip side) is that you tend to become a pseudo-expert in the pseudo-science of Graphology....
...At least you can blow up some popular myths like girls have a better handwriting than boys. There may be some truth in this Rule but I have seen beautiful girls with ugly handwriting, though rare. In general girls are surely better organized in their answers, but it can't always be an advantage, since organization is one thing and brilliance is quite another {;-}....call me MCP if you will.....Mahatma Gandhi and Mark Twain had the worst handwriting.....good organization and beautiful handwriting only make the task of the reader easier....ask Doctors' Drug Dispensers...
There is another popular myth that a bold handwriting indicates a bold character: My Ph D Guide SDM had the biggest, boldest and best handwriting ever (filling in the tiny spaces of the Good Old Money Order Form was anathema to him). But he was one of the timidest souls I have seen in worldly matters (always scared that students with extremist views are out to get him).
It is a different matter that in intellectual matters I have seen none bolder than him...he could challenge Dirac and Einstein in their fields and poke holes in their Papers in chats with me and DB but was wit-scared of Referees {;-}.
But if anyone challenged his Paper, Devil Take The Hindmost...he could be a roaring lion...
*************************************************************************************************
My first experience of Evaluation of Answer Scripts, with the Question Paper set by someone else than me, was a disaster.
As soon as I joined IIT KGP at 21 on May 1, 1965, our HoD (HNB) dumped on me a bundle of about 100 JEE Scripts (there was some tiny remuneration for this most unpleasant task and HNB wanted to be kind to me).
I took a lot of time cracking the Model Answers which were doled out to us with strict instructions to follow them to the letter. I was a young man in a hurry and wanted to finish that bundle as quickly as possible (I didn't know that if you do so, another bundle would be dumped on you as a bonanza for your efficiency).
So I completed the task in one night and was about to deposit it the next morning, but before going to bed and falling asleep, I had this one script with the ugliest handwriting and worst organization bobbing up in my mind like a nightmare. As I was in a hurry and the answers at the end of each question were wrong, that script got barely 38 marks.
After tossing in bed for an hour, I got up, picked up that script cursing the chappie for horrible handwriting, and spent half an hour trying to tease out sense. At the end of the re-examination, the script got 82....all questions were rightly but differently answered till the last step....
Next morning I went to HNB and took my Summer Vacation then and there...and never did the JEE Job for the next 20 years, till the Evaluation became Central and so the atmosphere got picnicky with 35 of us sharing unending Jokes and cups of Tea...plus I became sort of Team-Lead by then.
Lesson: Boring Jobs should be done in a convivial atmosphere
*********************************************************************************************************
When we were in School where my father was the Head Master, every once in a while the Peon used to enter our Class Room with 30 odd white paper slips and distribute them amongst us. He also used to hand out one sheet from the day's Newspaper with a Column marked on it.
The Teacher would stop whatever he was teaching and read that column aloud asking us to take Dictation and submit our answer-scripts (the white paper slips with our Roll Numbers and Signatures). The Peon would collect them all and quit to repeat the thing in the next Class Room.
At first we didn't know what was the meaning of this Mystical Exercise, but it dawned on us by and by that the HM was handed an Anonymous Letter and was trying to figure out whodunit. Apparently he appointed a Select Committee of the Local Graphologists and the result was announced in the next morning's Assembly with the name of the Anonymous Absentee called several times but to no avail.
Anonymous Letters used to come in these few categories:
1. Love Letters to the Minority of Girl Students (not the word Girl...I am no MCP!).
The Girl Student concerned would have definitely read it over and over before handing it to the HM through proper channel.
Nothing much can be done about these...hormones being what they were...but we never heard of acid attacks during those Innocent 50s of the Nehru Era. The poor fool would be caned and let off with a stern warning...but by then he got what he wanted...Notoriety...
Once of course it was this young and handsome Bachelor Teacher who was the culprit. Since he can't be caned, he was shifted to some other Section quietly in order to suppress unpleasant Newspaper Reports...I alone had the inside info, being the HM's son.
The Teacher however was the Best and I would have learned Maths far better had he not turned impulsive...sigh!
2. Letters abusive of HM or his Staff.
In the former case, the HM ignored them wisely.
In the latter, he enjoyed them and took note of the contents but suppressed the matter after finding out the culprit and giving him a hearing and then warning him.
3. Letters revealing inside info regarding someone or the other.
The Letter-Writer is obviously scared of signing. No attempt is made in these cases to figure out the Author, but Secret Services are employed to find out if there is any truth in the allegations...more often than not, there Is a grain of it....but no action can be taken on the basis of an Anonymous Complaint, but the Big Brother is watchful...
4. Letters from Demented Souls...mostly out of Frustration in Love Affairs and attaching nude pictures.
The Standard Procedure in these cases is to ignore them outright after enjoying the Pictures and circulating them (if not selling them) among friends.
**********************************************************************************************************
At IIT KGP I was the proud recipient of a few Anonymous Letters. I used to circulate them among friends and feel great...someone is jealous...and it is always better to be envied than pitied...
DB wanted badly to get some, and I wished I could write....but he knew my handwriting as well as I knew his.
By that time, chappies became cleverer and used to write in Block Letters (before typewriters and keyboards were available)...but the contents generally indicated the symptom...
I had lots of fun but my wife was scared that I would be shot dead next or a Letter Bomb would be coming....to the extent she was on the point of declining to take delivery of a Gift Packet from an Addressee unknown to her...
After she phoned me the Sender's Name, I told her to accept it at once, open it and let me know the Contents....lots of wonderful gifts and goodies from Indra's Dad in exchange perhaps for teaching badly Indra's QM 0, EM 2 and QM 2 and allowing him to enter late every Monday Morning and then go to Harry's during his two 4th Year Labs...I wished I could...
His dad too was a brilliant student of Physics from the Presidency College during its Golden Era...
================================================================
Friday, January 7, 2011
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Condescension
=========================================================
Condescension is worse than Donation.
It is not material but ethereal and is an Attitude Thing.
Like the Bud asking the Bee to come tomorrow; the Fruit however knows that the Flower has been at the Receiving End.
********************************************************************************************************
All girls in their teens look beautiful and they are acutely aware of it.
This teenage classmate of mine, Ms K, was no exception.
In our 3rd Year B Sc (Hons) her devout mom felt that her genius-daughter needs some 'guidance' in Complex Variables. So, she approached the talented Math Prof Dr J to coach her daughter (for free) every evening at 9 PM since they were living in the same Housing Complex. Dr J was a bachelor in his mid-30s and they all feel awkward with girls (ask me!). He was my friend's elder brother and so sent for me if I was interested to join their Tutorial Class. Since I am weak in math I gladly agreed.
Dr J was unfortunately albinic and had to wear dark glasses day and night.
The third evening Dr J and me waited from 9 to 10 for the arrival of Ms K, but to no avail. Since Dr J didn't want to repeat his lesson, we gossiped and parted.
Next evening Ms K arrived a few minutes late, and Dr J genially asked her why she was absent yesterday.
And got her charming reply: "OK, I shall be regular hereafter".
Dr J blushed so pink that for a moment his face ceased to look albinic.
It is the "OK" that did it...Condescension at its worst!
*******************************************************************************************************
In 1980 I was traveling with my pregnant wife on the Howrah-Bombay Mail.
At Rajnandgaon she suddenly felt this desperate urge to eat Dal Vadas. It is a superstition with us that if the whimsical urges of pregnant ladies are not met forthwith, the kid will be born grumpy and discontented.
So, I bought half a dozen Vadas and got them packed in twos. She could eat just one and I the other. Since I am paranoid about wasting food I was looking to give away those untouched 4 Vadas to someone in need.
Then I saw this unfortunate soul on the Platform with both legs amputated pushing his 4-wheeler board, with a tin of coins attached to it. I debated for a while and decided to quietly leave the packet in his hands.
He gave me a dirty look and tossed the packets on the railway track.
I felt bad and resolved that I would never give anybody anything unless explicitly asked...a Golden Rule that avoided a repetition of that unfortunate aspersion of Condescension.
******************************************************************************************************
This Grade-3 Cricketer was walking along the Vizagh Beach and was mobbed by a crowd of teenagers who asked him for his autograph. He felt he has reached Heaven and instantly pleased every one of them.
As he was walking along quite pleased with himself, he saw this other fabulous teenage girl coming along and asked her charmingly: "Autograph?"
At once she pulled her pen out of her croc-skin handbag and asked him for his autograph book.
Turned out she was a Grade-4 Vernacular Film Actress.
***********************************************************************************************************
Ishani is just one-year old.
As all healthy kids of her age, she is as pretty as a picture of that Nursery Rhyme: Chubby Cheeks, Dimple Chin, Glowing Skin, Rosy Lips...
Every morning @ 9 I carry her around for a bit of sunbathing and we park ourselves on the granite bench outside our Apartment Complex to watch the birds and winter flowers and the Commuter Rush.
Those who happen to peek at her in their hurried walk stop in their tracks to blow her a kiss or squeeze her cheeks, or pet and cuddle her.
Since I am a famous mind-reader, I know what Ishani feels.....
===========================================================
Condescension is worse than Donation.
It is not material but ethereal and is an Attitude Thing.
Like the Bud asking the Bee to come tomorrow; the Fruit however knows that the Flower has been at the Receiving End.
********************************************************************************************************
All girls in their teens look beautiful and they are acutely aware of it.
This teenage classmate of mine, Ms K, was no exception.
In our 3rd Year B Sc (Hons) her devout mom felt that her genius-daughter needs some 'guidance' in Complex Variables. So, she approached the talented Math Prof Dr J to coach her daughter (for free) every evening at 9 PM since they were living in the same Housing Complex. Dr J was a bachelor in his mid-30s and they all feel awkward with girls (ask me!). He was my friend's elder brother and so sent for me if I was interested to join their Tutorial Class. Since I am weak in math I gladly agreed.
Dr J was unfortunately albinic and had to wear dark glasses day and night.
The third evening Dr J and me waited from 9 to 10 for the arrival of Ms K, but to no avail. Since Dr J didn't want to repeat his lesson, we gossiped and parted.
Next evening Ms K arrived a few minutes late, and Dr J genially asked her why she was absent yesterday.
And got her charming reply: "OK, I shall be regular hereafter".
Dr J blushed so pink that for a moment his face ceased to look albinic.
It is the "OK" that did it...Condescension at its worst!
*******************************************************************************************************
In 1980 I was traveling with my pregnant wife on the Howrah-Bombay Mail.
At Rajnandgaon she suddenly felt this desperate urge to eat Dal Vadas. It is a superstition with us that if the whimsical urges of pregnant ladies are not met forthwith, the kid will be born grumpy and discontented.
So, I bought half a dozen Vadas and got them packed in twos. She could eat just one and I the other. Since I am paranoid about wasting food I was looking to give away those untouched 4 Vadas to someone in need.
Then I saw this unfortunate soul on the Platform with both legs amputated pushing his 4-wheeler board, with a tin of coins attached to it. I debated for a while and decided to quietly leave the packet in his hands.
He gave me a dirty look and tossed the packets on the railway track.
I felt bad and resolved that I would never give anybody anything unless explicitly asked...a Golden Rule that avoided a repetition of that unfortunate aspersion of Condescension.
******************************************************************************************************
This Grade-3 Cricketer was walking along the Vizagh Beach and was mobbed by a crowd of teenagers who asked him for his autograph. He felt he has reached Heaven and instantly pleased every one of them.
As he was walking along quite pleased with himself, he saw this other fabulous teenage girl coming along and asked her charmingly: "Autograph?"
At once she pulled her pen out of her croc-skin handbag and asked him for his autograph book.
Turned out she was a Grade-4 Vernacular Film Actress.
***********************************************************************************************************
Ishani is just one-year old.
As all healthy kids of her age, she is as pretty as a picture of that Nursery Rhyme: Chubby Cheeks, Dimple Chin, Glowing Skin, Rosy Lips...
Every morning @ 9 I carry her around for a bit of sunbathing and we park ourselves on the granite bench outside our Apartment Complex to watch the birds and winter flowers and the Commuter Rush.
Those who happen to peek at her in their hurried walk stop in their tracks to blow her a kiss or squeeze her cheeks, or pet and cuddle her.
Since I am a famous mind-reader, I know what Ishani feels.....
....Very Very Condescending....
===========================================================
Lear's Best
=========================================================================
Have been re-reading Edward Lear's Book of Bosh and found the rhymes in this celebrated creation unbeatable; the whole thing is magical and mystical.....
****************************************************************************************************************************
The Courtship of Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò
I
On the Coast of Coromandel
Where the early pumpkins blow,
In the middle of the woods
Lived the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò.
Two old chairs, and half a candle,--
One old jug without a handle,--
These were all his worldly goods:
In the middle of the woods,
These were all the worldly goods,
Of the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò,
Of the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò.
II
Once, among the Bong-trees walking
Where the early pumpkins blow,
To a little heap of stones
Came the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò.
There he heard a Lady talking,
To some milk-white Hens of Dorking,--
''Tis the lady Jingly Jones!
'On that little heap of stones
'Sits the Lady Jingly Jones!'
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò,
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò.
III
'Lady Jingly! Lady Jingly!
'Sitting where the pumpkins blow,
'Will you come and be my wife?'
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò.
'I am tired of living singly,--
'On this coast so wild and shingly,--
'I'm a-weary of my life:
'If you'll come and be my wife,
'Quite serene would be my life!'--
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò,
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò.
IV
'On this Coast of Coromandel,
'Shrimps and watercresses grow,
'Prawns are plentiful and cheap,'
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò.
'You shall have my chairs and candle,
'And my jug without a handle!--
'Gaze upon the rolling deep
('Fish is plentiful and cheap)
'As the sea, my love is deep!'
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò,
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò.
V
Lady Jingly answered sadly,
And her tears began to flow,--
'Your proposal comes too late,
'Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò!
'I would be your wife most gladly!'
(Here she twirled her fingers madly,)
'But in England I've a mate!
'Yes! you've asked me far too late,
'For in England I've a mate,
'Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò!
'Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò!'
VI
'Mr. Jones -- (his name is Handel,--
'Handel Jones, Esquire, & Co.)
'Dorking fowls delights to send,
'Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò!
'Keep, oh! keep your chairs and candle,
'And your jug without a handle,--
'I can merely be your friend!
'-- Should my Jones more Dorkings send,
'I will give you three, my friend!
'Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò!
'Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò!'
VII
'Though you've such a tiny body,
'And your head so large doth grow,--
'Though your hat may blow away,
'Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò!
'Though you're such a Hoddy Doddy--
'Yet a wish that I could modi-
'fy the words I needs must say!
'Will you please to go away?
'That is all I have to say--
'Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò!
'Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò!'.
VIII
Down the slippery slopes of Myrtle,
Where the early pumpkins blow,
To the calm and silent sea
Fled the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò.
There, beyond the Bay of Gurtle,
Lay a large and lively Turtle,--
'You're the Cove,' he said, 'for me
'On your back beyond the sea,
'Turtle, you shall carry me!'
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò,
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò.
IX
Through the silent-roaring ocean
Did the Turtle swiftly go;
Holding fast upon his shell
Rode the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò.
With a sad primæval motion
Towards the sunset isles of Boshen
Still the Turtle bore him well.
Holding fast upon his shell,
'Lady Jingly Jones, farewell!'
Sang the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò,
Sang the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò.
X
From the Coast of Coromandel,
Did that Lady never go;
On that heap of stones she mourns
For the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò.
On that Coast of Coromandel,
In his jug without a handle
Still she weeps, and daily moans;
On that little hep of stones
To her Dorking Hens she moans,
For the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò,
For the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò.
Edward Lear
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-courtship-of-the-yonghy-bonghy-bo/
=============================================================
Have been re-reading Edward Lear's Book of Bosh and found the rhymes in this celebrated creation unbeatable; the whole thing is magical and mystical.....
****************************************************************************************************************************
The Courtship of Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò
I
On the Coast of Coromandel
Where the early pumpkins blow,
In the middle of the woods
Lived the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò.
Two old chairs, and half a candle,--
One old jug without a handle,--
These were all his worldly goods:
In the middle of the woods,
These were all the worldly goods,
Of the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò,
Of the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò.
II
Once, among the Bong-trees walking
Where the early pumpkins blow,
To a little heap of stones
Came the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò.
There he heard a Lady talking,
To some milk-white Hens of Dorking,--
''Tis the lady Jingly Jones!
'On that little heap of stones
'Sits the Lady Jingly Jones!'
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò,
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò.
III
'Lady Jingly! Lady Jingly!
'Sitting where the pumpkins blow,
'Will you come and be my wife?'
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò.
'I am tired of living singly,--
'On this coast so wild and shingly,--
'I'm a-weary of my life:
'If you'll come and be my wife,
'Quite serene would be my life!'--
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò,
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò.
IV
'On this Coast of Coromandel,
'Shrimps and watercresses grow,
'Prawns are plentiful and cheap,'
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò.
'You shall have my chairs and candle,
'And my jug without a handle!--
'Gaze upon the rolling deep
('Fish is plentiful and cheap)
'As the sea, my love is deep!'
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò,
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò.
V
Lady Jingly answered sadly,
And her tears began to flow,--
'Your proposal comes too late,
'Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò!
'I would be your wife most gladly!'
(Here she twirled her fingers madly,)
'But in England I've a mate!
'Yes! you've asked me far too late,
'For in England I've a mate,
'Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò!
'Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò!'
VI
'Mr. Jones -- (his name is Handel,--
'Handel Jones, Esquire, & Co.)
'Dorking fowls delights to send,
'Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò!
'Keep, oh! keep your chairs and candle,
'And your jug without a handle,--
'I can merely be your friend!
'-- Should my Jones more Dorkings send,
'I will give you three, my friend!
'Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò!
'Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò!'
VII
'Though you've such a tiny body,
'And your head so large doth grow,--
'Though your hat may blow away,
'Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò!
'Though you're such a Hoddy Doddy--
'Yet a wish that I could modi-
'fy the words I needs must say!
'Will you please to go away?
'That is all I have to say--
'Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò!
'Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò!'.
VIII
Down the slippery slopes of Myrtle,
Where the early pumpkins blow,
To the calm and silent sea
Fled the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò.
There, beyond the Bay of Gurtle,
Lay a large and lively Turtle,--
'You're the Cove,' he said, 'for me
'On your back beyond the sea,
'Turtle, you shall carry me!'
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò,
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò.
IX
Through the silent-roaring ocean
Did the Turtle swiftly go;
Holding fast upon his shell
Rode the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò.
With a sad primæval motion
Towards the sunset isles of Boshen
Still the Turtle bore him well.
Holding fast upon his shell,
'Lady Jingly Jones, farewell!'
Sang the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò,
Sang the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò.
X
From the Coast of Coromandel,
Did that Lady never go;
On that heap of stones she mourns
For the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò.
On that Coast of Coromandel,
In his jug without a handle
Still she weeps, and daily moans;
On that little hep of stones
To her Dorking Hens she moans,
For the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò,
For the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò.
Edward Lear
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-courtship-of-the-yonghy-bonghy-bo/
=============================================================
Parent-Teacher Thing
================================================================
Shy and reclusive as I am by nature, I always avoided the compulsory Parent-Teacher Meetings of my son, and sent my meek wife instead, from LKG at St Agnes School to KV @ IIT KGP.
But she put her foot down and refused to do duty in his Class 12 and I had to reluctantly go.
I had promised myself that I wouldn't interfere with the Teaching at KV come what may.
But I had to break my own promise when they started teaching that a point charge left at a point on an Electric Field Line will travel along it forever.
The two young and handsome Physics Teachers rebuked my son for his effrontery, showing him that they had followed in letter and spirit what was printed in the very popular Text Book they chose; and were no doubt waiting to pounce on me in the PT-Meeting.
I hid myself in a backseat in the Class Room watching the fun going on at the Teachers' Table where the two poor souls were hounded by angry mothers pointing out mistakes from totaling errors to outright wrong questions; and making them eat crow.....I too am wit-scared of Campus Mothers...
After everyone left, my son crawled to the Table to have a ceremonial peek at his script, sign it, and return it hastily.
But the two Teachers refused to hand it to him asking for his Physics-Father.
So, I had to walk up and wish them in all the humility of a wrong-doer.
They asked me to have a look at the QP and AP; but I buttered them up declining to do either, saying that I myself am a Physics Teacher and so have implicit faith in them.
It was as if two huge balloons were punctured with a pin...they were expecting a Battle Royal.
Then they offered Tea and winked that my son is good but busy otherwise than studies in their School...and we all agreed that it is the hormones that flow in Class 12...
They then asked me my advice as to what is the most important thing for a Teacher of Physics.
I said honestly that picking up the right book is half the battle.
And told them how fortunate I was that Mathews & Venkatesan chose to write a book on QM when it fell to my lot to learn and teach QM all by myself...the book is almost flawless and made a great foundation to build on other lavish books.
We parted with great empathy after they reopened my son's answer script, reevaluated it quickly and found it deserving an extra fifteen marks all in all here and there...not that their marks mattered a whit in Class 12...
Good Old Olive Oil...
=================================================================
Shy and reclusive as I am by nature, I always avoided the compulsory Parent-Teacher Meetings of my son, and sent my meek wife instead, from LKG at St Agnes School to KV @ IIT KGP.
But she put her foot down and refused to do duty in his Class 12 and I had to reluctantly go.
I had promised myself that I wouldn't interfere with the Teaching at KV come what may.
But I had to break my own promise when they started teaching that a point charge left at a point on an Electric Field Line will travel along it forever.
The two young and handsome Physics Teachers rebuked my son for his effrontery, showing him that they had followed in letter and spirit what was printed in the very popular Text Book they chose; and were no doubt waiting to pounce on me in the PT-Meeting.
I hid myself in a backseat in the Class Room watching the fun going on at the Teachers' Table where the two poor souls were hounded by angry mothers pointing out mistakes from totaling errors to outright wrong questions; and making them eat crow.....I too am wit-scared of Campus Mothers...
After everyone left, my son crawled to the Table to have a ceremonial peek at his script, sign it, and return it hastily.
But the two Teachers refused to hand it to him asking for his Physics-Father.
So, I had to walk up and wish them in all the humility of a wrong-doer.
They asked me to have a look at the QP and AP; but I buttered them up declining to do either, saying that I myself am a Physics Teacher and so have implicit faith in them.
It was as if two huge balloons were punctured with a pin...they were expecting a Battle Royal.
Then they offered Tea and winked that my son is good but busy otherwise than studies in their School...and we all agreed that it is the hormones that flow in Class 12...
They then asked me my advice as to what is the most important thing for a Teacher of Physics.
I said honestly that picking up the right book is half the battle.
And told them how fortunate I was that Mathews & Venkatesan chose to write a book on QM when it fell to my lot to learn and teach QM all by myself...the book is almost flawless and made a great foundation to build on other lavish books.
We parted with great empathy after they reopened my son's answer script, reevaluated it quickly and found it deserving an extra fifteen marks all in all here and there...not that their marks mattered a whit in Class 12...
Good Old Olive Oil...
=================================================================
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
# 500
============================================================
My Blogger Dashboard (What a Word!) tells me that this is the Post # 500
And that the number of Pageviews has crossed 10, 000
I guess it is Celebration Time....a record of sorts for 2009 (205) and 2010 (277)
All posts have intentionally been non-serious, flippant and with happy endings like the Chandamama Stories meant for kids
Reco-Mela 2 has scored more than 100 hits; must be from KGPians
I have analyzed the reasons: it has a blend of lighthearted sincerity, lots of praise, an @ Home Party at IIT KGP, humor; and a charming Comment from Varun
On an impulse called Varun at his Bangalore landline: he was surprised; certainly, but not shocked...knew he is dealing with another KGP-Crank
Transition time here: After a golden run of 6.5 years at a Bio-IT / Genomics Start-up by our KGP Physics Celebrity Couple Subash and Anu, Sonoo is shifting as Project Manager at Thomson Reuters Taxes & Accounts Division for diversification of his skill-sets
Means also shifting house to one nearer to the Hi-Tech City
Ishani has completed one year and is naughtier than they come. Was standing by in the Senior Citizen-cum-Ladies Queue at the famous Secunderabad Passport Office this morning holding her for her Passport.
She started groping the lady in front and it was I that got the slap {;-}
Here is:
=============================================================
My Blogger Dashboard (What a Word!) tells me that this is the Post # 500
And that the number of Pageviews has crossed 10, 000
I guess it is Celebration Time....a record of sorts for 2009 (205) and 2010 (277)
All posts have intentionally been non-serious, flippant and with happy endings like the Chandamama Stories meant for kids
Reco-Mela 2 has scored more than 100 hits; must be from KGPians
I have analyzed the reasons: it has a blend of lighthearted sincerity, lots of praise, an @ Home Party at IIT KGP, humor; and a charming Comment from Varun
On an impulse called Varun at his Bangalore landline: he was surprised; certainly, but not shocked...knew he is dealing with another KGP-Crank
Transition time here: After a golden run of 6.5 years at a Bio-IT / Genomics Start-up by our KGP Physics Celebrity Couple Subash and Anu, Sonoo is shifting as Project Manager at Thomson Reuters Taxes & Accounts Division for diversification of his skill-sets
Means also shifting house to one nearer to the Hi-Tech City
Ishani has completed one year and is naughtier than they come. Was standing by in the Senior Citizen-cum-Ladies Queue at the famous Secunderabad Passport Office this morning holding her for her Passport.
She started groping the lady in front and it was I that got the slap {;-}
Here is:
Happy 2011!
from
from
Ishani
Sailaja & Sonoo
Rukmini & gps
Rukmini & gps
=============================================================
Monday, January 3, 2011
Ridicule & Witticism
===============================================================
No god and no religion can survive ridicule. No church, no nobility, no royalty or other fraud, can face ridicule in a fair field and live.
- Mark Twain...Notebook, 1888
There is no character, howsoever good and fine, but it can be destroyed by ridicule, howsoever poor and witless. Observe the ass, for instance: his character is about perfect, he is the choicest spirit among all the humbler animals, yet see what ridicule has brought him to. Instead of feeling complimented when we are called an ass, we are left in doubt.
- Mark Twain...Pudd'nhead Wilson
Sense of ridicule is bitterer than death & more feared. -- men commit suicide daily to escape it.
- Mark Twain's Notebooks and Journals, Vol. 3, p. 346.
No god and no religion can survive ridicule. No church, no nobility, no royalty or other fraud, can face ridicule in a fair field and live.
- Mark Twain...Notebook, 1888
There is no character, howsoever good and fine, but it can be destroyed by ridicule, howsoever poor and witless. Observe the ass, for instance: his character is about perfect, he is the choicest spirit among all the humbler animals, yet see what ridicule has brought him to. Instead of feeling complimented when we are called an ass, we are left in doubt.
- Mark Twain...Pudd'nhead Wilson
Sense of ridicule is bitterer than death & more feared. -- men commit suicide daily to escape it.
- Mark Twain's Notebooks and Journals, Vol. 3, p. 346.
*************************************************************************************************================================================================
- Wonder why authors and actors are ashamed of being funny?
--Why, there are obvious reasons, and deep philosophical ones.
The clown knows very well that the women are not in love with
him, but with Hamlet, the fellow in the black cloak and plumed
hat. Passion never laughs. The wit knows that his place is
at the tail of a procession.
If you want the deep underlying reason, I must take more time
to tell it. There is a perfect consciousness in every form
of wit--using that term in its general sense--that its essence
consists in a partial and incomplete view of whatever it touches.
It throws a single ray, separated from the rest,--red, yellow,
blue, or any intermediate shade,--upon an object; never white
light; that is the province of wisdom. We get beautiful effects
from wit,--all the prismatic colors,--but never the object as
it is in fair daylight. A pun, which is a kind if wit, is a
different and much shallower trick in mental optics throwing
the SHADOWS of two objects so that one overlies the other.
Poetry uses the rainbow tints for special effects, but always
keeps its essential object in the purest white light of truth...
....Oliver Wendell Holmes..Autocrat of the Breakfast Table
Saturday, January 1, 2011
The Bathroom I Built
================================================================
This is a story of Falsification, Pacification, Gratification & Escalation...
About 20 years ago I went home from KGP on one Summer Vacation of 40 days slipping Rs 3,000 in my pocket (my 5 month-take-home-salary).
And was told by my Mother (then 70) that my Father (then 80, arthritic) slipped and fell outside our far-off Toilet on a hot midday, was screaming feebly for help, and was stranded for more than fifteen minutes till a Search Party went to his rescue.
At once I decided that I would build him an Attached Bathroom.
The house was solid, 40 years old then, linear like a Train, and the walk to the Indian-Style Toilet was about 30 feet.
Father promptly put his foot down saying he can't imagine a Stinking Bathroom within his Bedroom, that he had used Indian Hunching Toilets all of his 80 years, and is not going to bloody well sit stark naked on a hot-seat holding his chin like that stupid Bronze Thinker of Rodin .
I said OK; that was the first lie...
Mother said she made inquiries and a temporary shed with temporary walls and a temporary door with permanent fixtures would cost about Rs 3,000; and no more should be spent on an aging couple.
I said OK; that was my next...
I brought our Mason and he inspected and certified that a Toilet can be attached only to the Front Bedroom and would be sticking out visibly like a sore thumb in front of the splendid House and he wouldn't approve of a shed but it has to be a pukka structure which would cost about Rs 10,000 in all; and he wouldn't work on a contract but on daily wages for him and his lousy Assistant.
I said OK...
Father being a Retired Govt Official insisted I get the Municipality Approval before starting any Permanent Addition to his beloved House.
I said OK....
And I assured him that nowadays one can go ahead with slight modifications and later on get the Municipality Approval, much like a Love Marriage in which the Wedding takes place in a hurry and the horoscopes suitably tallied at leisure later on.
That was the Pacification.
When sand and gravel were accumulating outside our Gate, a Municipal Informer came in and threatened dire consequences like waiting for the structure to be completely built and than fetching the Demolition Squad.
I asked him to fetch instead his Seniormost Official for a hot cup of coffee and gold biscuits; and told Mother that since my Conduct Rules won't permit, she has to take care of the Gratification.
She agreed reluctantly but not being used to it, she made the coffee and biscuits sweet in cash but sour in kind (she abused them black and blue).
The Carpenter was brought in for the woodwork of the Door and the Ventilators. I insisted that they be of teak like the others and that alone cost Rs 8,000.
That was the First Escalation..
I insisted by and by as work progressed that the Attached Bathroom should be raised to the same height as the be Bedroom so it wouldn't look like an Appendix, the ceiling should be of reinforced concrete, the added Parapet Walls should be tiled like the rest of the Frontage, new soakpits should be dug instead of laying long undependable pipes, the color of the new walls should match with the rest of the house etc etc....
A Series of Escalations..
After 40 days the work was just about through and I told the Plumber that after I quit, he should install the best available Western Style Commode.
The Bill came to Rs 25,000 and I had to raise goodwill-cash which could be reimbursed as soon as I reached KGP from my Provident Fund Loan (for performing the Marriage of my 20th Dependent Mythical Sister).
Apparently everyone who visited us after it was finished started asking: "Where is the Attached Bathroom? Where is it?? We can't see any Attachment at all!"..
....The thing merged so neatly with the rest of the House that to this day 20 years later not even Municipal Informers have a clue....
After the reluctant first week, Father apparently used to take The Hindu to his new Toilet and had to be coaxed and cajoled to come out since everybody in the house was queuing up...the Old Far-Off Indian Style Toilet is in disuse except when I go there...
=================================================================
This is a story of Falsification, Pacification, Gratification & Escalation...
About 20 years ago I went home from KGP on one Summer Vacation of 40 days slipping Rs 3,000 in my pocket (my 5 month-take-home-salary).
And was told by my Mother (then 70) that my Father (then 80, arthritic) slipped and fell outside our far-off Toilet on a hot midday, was screaming feebly for help, and was stranded for more than fifteen minutes till a Search Party went to his rescue.
At once I decided that I would build him an Attached Bathroom.
The house was solid, 40 years old then, linear like a Train, and the walk to the Indian-Style Toilet was about 30 feet.
Father promptly put his foot down saying he can't imagine a Stinking Bathroom within his Bedroom, that he had used Indian Hunching Toilets all of his 80 years, and is not going to bloody well sit stark naked on a hot-seat holding his chin like that stupid Bronze Thinker of Rodin .
I said OK; that was the first lie...
Mother said she made inquiries and a temporary shed with temporary walls and a temporary door with permanent fixtures would cost about Rs 3,000; and no more should be spent on an aging couple.
I said OK; that was my next...
I brought our Mason and he inspected and certified that a Toilet can be attached only to the Front Bedroom and would be sticking out visibly like a sore thumb in front of the splendid House and he wouldn't approve of a shed but it has to be a pukka structure which would cost about Rs 10,000 in all; and he wouldn't work on a contract but on daily wages for him and his lousy Assistant.
I said OK...
Father being a Retired Govt Official insisted I get the Municipality Approval before starting any Permanent Addition to his beloved House.
I said OK....
And I assured him that nowadays one can go ahead with slight modifications and later on get the Municipality Approval, much like a Love Marriage in which the Wedding takes place in a hurry and the horoscopes suitably tallied at leisure later on.
That was the Pacification.
When sand and gravel were accumulating outside our Gate, a Municipal Informer came in and threatened dire consequences like waiting for the structure to be completely built and than fetching the Demolition Squad.
I asked him to fetch instead his Seniormost Official for a hot cup of coffee and gold biscuits; and told Mother that since my Conduct Rules won't permit, she has to take care of the Gratification.
She agreed reluctantly but not being used to it, she made the coffee and biscuits sweet in cash but sour in kind (she abused them black and blue).
The Carpenter was brought in for the woodwork of the Door and the Ventilators. I insisted that they be of teak like the others and that alone cost Rs 8,000.
That was the First Escalation..
I insisted by and by as work progressed that the Attached Bathroom should be raised to the same height as the be Bedroom so it wouldn't look like an Appendix, the ceiling should be of reinforced concrete, the added Parapet Walls should be tiled like the rest of the Frontage, new soakpits should be dug instead of laying long undependable pipes, the color of the new walls should match with the rest of the house etc etc....
A Series of Escalations..
After 40 days the work was just about through and I told the Plumber that after I quit, he should install the best available Western Style Commode.
The Bill came to Rs 25,000 and I had to raise goodwill-cash which could be reimbursed as soon as I reached KGP from my Provident Fund Loan (for performing the Marriage of my 20th Dependent Mythical Sister).
Apparently everyone who visited us after it was finished started asking: "Where is the Attached Bathroom? Where is it?? We can't see any Attachment at all!"..
....The thing merged so neatly with the rest of the House that to this day 20 years later not even Municipal Informers have a clue....
After the reluctant first week, Father apparently used to take The Hindu to his new Toilet and had to be coaxed and cajoled to come out since everybody in the house was queuing up...the Old Far-Off Indian Style Toilet is in disuse except when I go there...
...Can't sit stark naked on a hot-seat holding his chin like that stupid Bronze Thinker of Rodin.....
=================================================================
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