====================================================================
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...
====================================================================
Monday, August 15, 2011
Sunday, August 14, 2011
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...
=========================================================================
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...
=========================================================================
Saturday, August 13, 2011
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:
***********************************************************************************************************
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 {;-}
***************************************************************************************************************
US: "Don't crush Anna's campaign"
India: "Mind your debt"
=======================================================================
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:
***********************************************************************************************************
--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. ***********************************************************************************
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 {;-}
***************************************************************************************************************
Chutzpah
US: "Don't crush Anna's campaign"
India: "Mind your debt"
=======================================================================
Friday, August 12, 2011
Ignomenclature
==========================================================================
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...
==========================================================================
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...
==========================================================================
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Roshanama
==========================================================================
"The poison of our world is the fairy tales we tell our children. There is not one that speaks of real life where there is no happy ending"
.....Hrithik Roshan, actor, on fairy tales (ToI, Wednesday August 10)
*************************************************************************************************************
There must be some journalistic goof-up there. I just can't imagine a tinsel town hero born with a tinsel-spoon in his tinsel mouth can make such a sweeping statement against fairy tales. He must have been misquoted or at least quoted out of context.
But it is not any upstart rag but the old maid of Bombay, the Times of India, in its Editorial Page and with a picture of the hero to boot.
It just happened that today I got a mail from Pratik saying, inter alia:
"I am reading your blogs off and on. Among the July ones `Importance of Fairy Tales' was matchless. I shall start Guareschi soon."
http://gpsastry.blogspot.com/2011/07/importance-of-fairy-tales.html
And Pratik is as good if not better in telling fairy tales in Physics than I to our students {;-}
There is another consummate Physicist, Aniket, who said:
"My father, who entertained us with stories at bedtime on a regular basis, always told me that for the purpose of a good narrative it was never necessary to stick to facts..."
The few readers of this blog know that these are full of tall fairy tales. Still they seem to read them compulsively.
I asked another gifted Physicist, Supratim, why he reads my nonsense knowing that it is big gul. And he said some of them give him 'hope' and yet others are 'strangely uplifting'.
I guess he said a mouthful. All fairy tales lift us up from the drudgery of mundane existence despite the fact that we know them to be mere stories.
The three kids I quoted above are, well, on the wrong side of 30.
In my blog on Fairy tales I said:
"She (Ishani) is just 1.6 years old; and I am waiting for her to attain the glorious 2-year-old-age. For I am bubbling with enthu to tell her all sorts of Fairy Tales, with top spin as I go."
And quoted Margherita:
"I intend to tell my children fairy tales until they're at least twenty years old,' concluded Margherita. 'I still remember the ones that were told to me, and even if I've learned that they aren't true, I continue to get pleasure and some comfort from them."
**************************************************************************************************************
Kids are not fools...even at 3. They know a fairy tale when they hear one.
I clearly recall the incident when I was just about 3 and playing in our backyard in our Village with my Father. Suddenly a squirrel chasing her nut ran between us. And I was transfixed with her agility and beauty.
Father was watching me and told me how that squirrel got those three lovely stripes on her back. According to him, when the monkey army of Sugriv was carrying boulders and stones to build a bridge across the sea to Sri Lanka for Lord Raam, who was sitting on a stone and watching, this very squirrel got excited and wanted to participate in the holy enterprise and started rolling herself in sand and hurrying to the sea and dumping the sand on her back into the sea, and hurrying back and forth and back and forth, to 'uplift' the seabed.
Watching her, Lord Raam was so pleased with her devotion that He took her up in His arms and, with his three fingers, gently stroked her back. Upon which our backyard squirrel asked Him to make the stripes indelible.
I knew my Father was fibbing.
But 40 years later, when I used to lie down on my cot under the mango tree of our backyard in our Qrs C1-97 at IIT KGP, I used to watch half a dozen squirrels going about their nut-cracking business, and recall my Father's Fairy Tale and exult.
*************************************************************************************************************
I have a request to Hrithikjee who I am told started as a child actor.
"Please don't bar your kids Rehaan (5) and Ridhaan (3) from watching Tom & Jerry, the ultimate fairy tale that I watch with Ishani in my lap, both of us transfixed and full of love for the Message, if there is one, of the cartoon."
For himself, whenever he feels unreasonably happy (say thrice a week on the average) in this woebegone world of ours, I recommend Kafka.
As for his quest for 'unhappy endings', there is none: the ultimate cynic, Maugham, wanted to end his Razor's Edge on an unhappy note, but says he found that his protagonists' 'marriage and death' are equally happy: in either case "the interest passes on to the next generation".
And my Guru SDM (May his soul RIP!) proved the existence of an Infinite Grace by citing the instance of pain: "When it is unbearable, the patient faints; if even worse, he dies...the true Hell is one in which pain is endless and there is no fainting or death."
Draupadi curses Ashwathama for killing all her offspring thus:
"May Death Elude You!"; and this is no Fairy Tale...I saw him the other day crying inconsolably and wandering aimlessly in the Himalayas {;-}
=========================================================================
"The poison of our world is the fairy tales we tell our children. There is not one that speaks of real life where there is no happy ending"
.....Hrithik Roshan, actor, on fairy tales (ToI, Wednesday August 10)
*************************************************************************************************************
There must be some journalistic goof-up there. I just can't imagine a tinsel town hero born with a tinsel-spoon in his tinsel mouth can make such a sweeping statement against fairy tales. He must have been misquoted or at least quoted out of context.
But it is not any upstart rag but the old maid of Bombay, the Times of India, in its Editorial Page and with a picture of the hero to boot.
It just happened that today I got a mail from Pratik saying, inter alia:
"I am reading your blogs off and on. Among the July ones `Importance of Fairy Tales' was matchless. I shall start Guareschi soon."
http://gpsastry.blogspot.com/2011/07/importance-of-fairy-tales.html
And Pratik is as good if not better in telling fairy tales in Physics than I to our students {;-}
There is another consummate Physicist, Aniket, who said:
"My father, who entertained us with stories at bedtime on a regular basis, always told me that for the purpose of a good narrative it was never necessary to stick to facts..."
The few readers of this blog know that these are full of tall fairy tales. Still they seem to read them compulsively.
I asked another gifted Physicist, Supratim, why he reads my nonsense knowing that it is big gul. And he said some of them give him 'hope' and yet others are 'strangely uplifting'.
I guess he said a mouthful. All fairy tales lift us up from the drudgery of mundane existence despite the fact that we know them to be mere stories.
The three kids I quoted above are, well, on the wrong side of 30.
In my blog on Fairy tales I said:
"She (Ishani) is just 1.6 years old; and I am waiting for her to attain the glorious 2-year-old-age. For I am bubbling with enthu to tell her all sorts of Fairy Tales, with top spin as I go."
And quoted Margherita:
"I intend to tell my children fairy tales until they're at least twenty years old,' concluded Margherita. 'I still remember the ones that were told to me, and even if I've learned that they aren't true, I continue to get pleasure and some comfort from them."
**************************************************************************************************************
Kids are not fools...even at 3. They know a fairy tale when they hear one.
I clearly recall the incident when I was just about 3 and playing in our backyard in our Village with my Father. Suddenly a squirrel chasing her nut ran between us. And I was transfixed with her agility and beauty.
Father was watching me and told me how that squirrel got those three lovely stripes on her back. According to him, when the monkey army of Sugriv was carrying boulders and stones to build a bridge across the sea to Sri Lanka for Lord Raam, who was sitting on a stone and watching, this very squirrel got excited and wanted to participate in the holy enterprise and started rolling herself in sand and hurrying to the sea and dumping the sand on her back into the sea, and hurrying back and forth and back and forth, to 'uplift' the seabed.
Watching her, Lord Raam was so pleased with her devotion that He took her up in His arms and, with his three fingers, gently stroked her back. Upon which our backyard squirrel asked Him to make the stripes indelible.
I knew my Father was fibbing.
But 40 years later, when I used to lie down on my cot under the mango tree of our backyard in our Qrs C1-97 at IIT KGP, I used to watch half a dozen squirrels going about their nut-cracking business, and recall my Father's Fairy Tale and exult.
*************************************************************************************************************
I have a request to Hrithikjee who I am told started as a child actor.
"Please don't bar your kids Rehaan (5) and Ridhaan (3) from watching Tom & Jerry, the ultimate fairy tale that I watch with Ishani in my lap, both of us transfixed and full of love for the Message, if there is one, of the cartoon."
For himself, whenever he feels unreasonably happy (say thrice a week on the average) in this woebegone world of ours, I recommend Kafka.
As for his quest for 'unhappy endings', there is none: the ultimate cynic, Maugham, wanted to end his Razor's Edge on an unhappy note, but says he found that his protagonists' 'marriage and death' are equally happy: in either case "the interest passes on to the next generation".
And my Guru SDM (May his soul RIP!) proved the existence of an Infinite Grace by citing the instance of pain: "When it is unbearable, the patient faints; if even worse, he dies...the true Hell is one in which pain is endless and there is no fainting or death."
Draupadi curses Ashwathama for killing all her offspring thus:
"May Death Elude You!"; and this is no Fairy Tale...I saw him the other day crying inconsolably and wandering aimlessly in the Himalayas {;-}
=========================================================================
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Trophies & Trinkets
==========================================================================
I guess it all started with headhunters.
When I was a kid of 5, I was visiting the houses of all my friends in the street, mostly for a glass of water midway through our outdoor games.
Except one.
I went in only once and got scared. Right on the wall of their hall was nailed a stag's head with magnificent antlers with a gun mounted on either side. That frightened me no end. My father discovered my fears and tried to allay them saying they were all wooden showpieces. I don't believe him now. There was no outcry on wildlife then; and many Brahmin households were replete with tiger-skins and deer-skins which were supposed to be Power Seats for their meditations.
Even as a kid I sensed that there was lot of hypocrisy in our South Indian Brahmin families. To this day I have a revulsion for buying what are cheaply boasted as Pure Silk saris after I read in school that each of them needed thousands of cocoons boiled along with their poor inmates.
When I was in Class 8, we kids were all playing marbles under the neem tree in front of our house. Suddenly, a cute blue bird (now I know it is a jackdaw) fell to the ground and was struggling to get up. As we were watching it helplessly, a tribal kid no bigger than us ran in and swooped it into his palm. And my mother came out asking what happened. The kid laughed and went over to her and opened his palm; and she ran in as if hit by the catapult dangling from his hip. The kid ran away with his trophy.
Since I happened to read in Chandamama the story of Siddhartha and Devadatta a few days earlier, the incident left a deep impression on me:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jfdpTSUN_CI
I guess the dilemma of good and evil remains unresolved from Adam to Bush; unless one cleverly bypasses it as in objective sciences like Physics or subjective acrobatics like Advaita.
There were a regular stream of itinerant tribal tradesfolks visiting our homes in our Village. And the Brahmin ladies used to haggle and buy their fare like honey (pure) and beads. Apart from these, they were also buying what were supposed to be eagle's talons and tiger's claws. These were hung around our necks since they were supposed to make us brave and fend off evil. Since plastic-age didn't yet dawn, I guess they were no fake...maybe.
But I didn't feel any braver then or now.
All our households had copper lothas (tumblers) for drinking water. And it was the laborious duty of our maids to clean them everyday with coconut fiber and sand till they shone. I am reminded of this because there was a news item in DC yesterday that scientists have discovered that copper kills all germs in the water stored in them for 24 hours. So there is no need for boiling or otherwise purifying water.
As usual, there is a catch with all such scientific discoveries: the copper must be sufficiently pure! They have the standard escape route: "I told you so!"
Of all the trophies I watched on TV, the one that gave the recipients unbridled glee was the Audi Car presented to Ravi Shastri as Champion of Champions in Australia, 1985. The entire Indian team of maybe 15 went round the galleries on their victory lap clinging to it like so many bees around their hive:
http://www.telegraphindia.com/1100310/images/10zzsporavibig.jpg
When Arundhuti's batch were in their Final Year (circa 1998), the Y2K buzz was on and the dotcom 'bubble burst' was nowhere on the horizon and campus recruitment was vigorous for software jobs. So, all those who were interested got some job or the other in Bangalore; except our Ghazal Kumar who was the shyest of the lot although he was the Hockey Captain. So, he was rather forlorn that everyone was talking of 1.5 lakhs and 1.8 lakhs.
A few days before close of the season, while I was climbing our staircase beside the T & P Office after the lunch hour, he ran to me and shyly asked me if I could lend him Rs 10 for a day. And he said he cleared the written test for a new Company and was waiting for the viva (nervously), and he didn't go for lunch and wanted to have a cup of coffee and biscuits at the Nescafe Counter.
Next morning at 10, he barged into my room with a broad grin and said he got the offer @ 2.25 lakhs (he joined later).
And returned me the very note I gave him because, as he said, he was called in immediately after our encounter.
I signed on that note and gave it back to him to keep it as a trinket memento...which he said later he did, after laminating it.
He helped me a lot later on from B'lore when I had trouble sending attachments to Edwin Taylor from my IBM PC to his Apple Macintosh.
Nice guy!
**************************************************************************************************************
N: "Meteorites created life on earth" (DC Headline)
V: Who created meteorites? (Next question)
=======================================================================
I guess it all started with headhunters.
When I was a kid of 5, I was visiting the houses of all my friends in the street, mostly for a glass of water midway through our outdoor games.
Except one.
I went in only once and got scared. Right on the wall of their hall was nailed a stag's head with magnificent antlers with a gun mounted on either side. That frightened me no end. My father discovered my fears and tried to allay them saying they were all wooden showpieces. I don't believe him now. There was no outcry on wildlife then; and many Brahmin households were replete with tiger-skins and deer-skins which were supposed to be Power Seats for their meditations.
Even as a kid I sensed that there was lot of hypocrisy in our South Indian Brahmin families. To this day I have a revulsion for buying what are cheaply boasted as Pure Silk saris after I read in school that each of them needed thousands of cocoons boiled along with their poor inmates.
When I was in Class 8, we kids were all playing marbles under the neem tree in front of our house. Suddenly, a cute blue bird (now I know it is a jackdaw) fell to the ground and was struggling to get up. As we were watching it helplessly, a tribal kid no bigger than us ran in and swooped it into his palm. And my mother came out asking what happened. The kid laughed and went over to her and opened his palm; and she ran in as if hit by the catapult dangling from his hip. The kid ran away with his trophy.
Since I happened to read in Chandamama the story of Siddhartha and Devadatta a few days earlier, the incident left a deep impression on me:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jfdpTSUN_CI
I guess the dilemma of good and evil remains unresolved from Adam to Bush; unless one cleverly bypasses it as in objective sciences like Physics or subjective acrobatics like Advaita.
There were a regular stream of itinerant tribal tradesfolks visiting our homes in our Village. And the Brahmin ladies used to haggle and buy their fare like honey (pure) and beads. Apart from these, they were also buying what were supposed to be eagle's talons and tiger's claws. These were hung around our necks since they were supposed to make us brave and fend off evil. Since plastic-age didn't yet dawn, I guess they were no fake...maybe.
But I didn't feel any braver then or now.
All our households had copper lothas (tumblers) for drinking water. And it was the laborious duty of our maids to clean them everyday with coconut fiber and sand till they shone. I am reminded of this because there was a news item in DC yesterday that scientists have discovered that copper kills all germs in the water stored in them for 24 hours. So there is no need for boiling or otherwise purifying water.
As usual, there is a catch with all such scientific discoveries: the copper must be sufficiently pure! They have the standard escape route: "I told you so!"
Of all the trophies I watched on TV, the one that gave the recipients unbridled glee was the Audi Car presented to Ravi Shastri as Champion of Champions in Australia, 1985. The entire Indian team of maybe 15 went round the galleries on their victory lap clinging to it like so many bees around their hive:
http://www.telegraphindia.com/1100310/images/10zzsporavibig.jpg
When Arundhuti's batch were in their Final Year (circa 1998), the Y2K buzz was on and the dotcom 'bubble burst' was nowhere on the horizon and campus recruitment was vigorous for software jobs. So, all those who were interested got some job or the other in Bangalore; except our Ghazal Kumar who was the shyest of the lot although he was the Hockey Captain. So, he was rather forlorn that everyone was talking of 1.5 lakhs and 1.8 lakhs.
A few days before close of the season, while I was climbing our staircase beside the T & P Office after the lunch hour, he ran to me and shyly asked me if I could lend him Rs 10 for a day. And he said he cleared the written test for a new Company and was waiting for the viva (nervously), and he didn't go for lunch and wanted to have a cup of coffee and biscuits at the Nescafe Counter.
Next morning at 10, he barged into my room with a broad grin and said he got the offer @ 2.25 lakhs (he joined later).
And returned me the very note I gave him because, as he said, he was called in immediately after our encounter.
I signed on that note and gave it back to him to keep it as a trinket memento...which he said later he did, after laminating it.
He helped me a lot later on from B'lore when I had trouble sending attachments to Edwin Taylor from my IBM PC to his Apple Macintosh.
Nice guy!
**************************************************************************************************************
News & Views
N: "Meteorites created life on earth" (DC Headline)
V: Who created meteorites? (Next question)
=======================================================================
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Cheerleaders
==========================================================================
Four Search Parties for Sita were launched by Sugriv, of which the Southbound Party included Hanuman, known for his prowess as well as his intense devotion to Raam. Hanuman was the son of the great god Vayu and he was blessed with the eightfold powers (ashta siddhis: anima, mahima, garima, laghima, prapti, prakaamyam, ishatvam and vasistvam) that I talked about in an earlier post:
http://gpsastry.blogspot.com/2011/07/tall-gossip.html
Raam had a hunch that Sita's abductor was headed south (Jatayu breathed his last before completing the word Sou..). So, Hanuman was chosen to go south.
But Hanuman had a problem: he always forgot that he had all those powers and had to be reminded.
So, when their Search party reached the Seashore without finding Sita, everyone there was depressed including Hanuman. And they had half a mind to beat a retreat. But the wise decided there was no way they could return empty-handed and so someone had to cross the sea and continue the search. And everyone, including Hanuman felt unequal to the task. And it was left to Jambavan to go over to Hanuman and cheer him up reminding the tremendous powers he had.
That did the trick.
Raam himself was always prone to forget that he was the incarnation of the very Vishnu; and behaved like a human. That is one reason why Raamaayan is charming, even to RKN to take the trouble of narrating the story in English.
During the course of the battle, Raam was deeply depressed that none of his astras (missiles) was good enough to kill Raavan (the secret had to be revealed to him by Vibhishan later). So, one morning he was sitting gloomily wondering what to do:
Then, seeing Raam's desperation, Sage Agasthya (of the Frogs blog) walks down to Raam and cheers him up by teaching him the loveliest adoration called: Aaaditya Hridayam and asks him to recite it.
That did the trick.
Arjun was rather obtuse: he needed the entire 18-Chapter Bhagavadgita to be taught by Krishna right in the middle of the battlefield even before killing started. Not yet convinced, he had to be shown the 4-D show called the Vishwarupa Sandarshan, before he could be cheered up to start killing.
But that did the trick.
There is a charming story of how Gautma, the Buddha, in search of Enlightenment follows the prevalent path of extreme austerities, but in vain. And then he happens to listen to a group of village belles playing soul-fulfilling music on their lutes; and understands by simile that just as a lute won't play when its strings are too tight or too loose, so he should invent the Middle Path.
And Sujata did the trick of feeding him the first morsel after days of going hungry.
So, every individual and nation when in distress needs cheerleaders.
When London was being bombed relentlessly, it was Chruchill who cheered up the Nation with his soul-stirring speeches:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6llT2ZYg-4E
So much so that the shopkeepers of London (ridiculed by Napoleon) kept their shops grittily open; and, when bombed to smithereens, they hung placards: "Shop More Open!"
Even the young boys and girls of the US surprised me by their Obama slogan:
"Yes, we can!"
It was so heartening that I couldn't make out who was cheering whom: Obama or the young ones. There is a flash word for it which I never used so far: synergy.
If you live as long as I, you would realize that there were situations when you were down in the dumps but someone acts as your cheerleader (if you are lucky). It could be a friend, a wife, a son, a guru, a student or even a stranger.
Once, in 1971, I was stranded on the Howrah Station Platform about to board the Madras Mail on a family mission. And felt that I would be so comfortable if I had a hundred rupee note in my pocket (I had only a fifty rupee note). And lo and behold, there came along totally unexpectedly a friend of mine (NP) and pushed a hundred rupee note into my pocket, and left like Sage Agastya:
It was one of those unexplained miracles.
And after marriage, my wife routinely played my cheerleader when needed most, bless her!
So, here is three cheers for all cheerleaders of the world!
****************************************************************************************************************
Today's DC carries an article by my favorite, Paul Krugman (NL), in which he lampoons S&P:
"...If there's a single word that best describes the rating agency's decision to downgrade America, it's chutzpah---traditionally defined by the example of the young man who kills his parents, then pleads for mercy becasue he's an orphan...
...Before downgrading US debt, S&P sent a preliminary draft of its press release to the US Treasury. Officials there quickly spotted a $2 trillion error in S&P's calculations...After discussion, S&P conceded it was wrong---and downgraded America anyway, after removing some of the economic analysis from its report...."
gps: This reminded me of the chutzpah of a Senior Professor Z whose marking of M Sc scripts I had to officially 'scrutinize'.
And his questions were all essay type. One student forgot to label his Question Numbers serially (KGPians were queer). So, when I looked into the script closely, I found that Q. Nos 4 and 5 were answered without a break. And Professor Z thought it was a single question answered ok, and gave him 12 out of 15 in the margin.
And I took the script to him and showed that the poor chap answered both the questions one after the other without a big break and so he deserves twice 12 marks (I rather knew the subject cursorily).
Professor Z looked up and down and down and up and back and forth and forth and back and struck out the 12 and replaced it by a 6 and another 6 so his total on the top page didn't change...
He was rather immutable, like the Himalayas before our generation...
I simply passed on the message to the concerned student so he could go and bargain, which was officially allowed...but didn't follow it up...one should do just the proper thing, no more-no less..
==========================================================================
Four Search Parties for Sita were launched by Sugriv, of which the Southbound Party included Hanuman, known for his prowess as well as his intense devotion to Raam. Hanuman was the son of the great god Vayu and he was blessed with the eightfold powers (ashta siddhis: anima, mahima, garima, laghima, prapti, prakaamyam, ishatvam and vasistvam) that I talked about in an earlier post:
http://gpsastry.blogspot.com/2011/07/tall-gossip.html
Raam had a hunch that Sita's abductor was headed south (Jatayu breathed his last before completing the word Sou..). So, Hanuman was chosen to go south.
But Hanuman had a problem: he always forgot that he had all those powers and had to be reminded.
So, when their Search party reached the Seashore without finding Sita, everyone there was depressed including Hanuman. And they had half a mind to beat a retreat. But the wise decided there was no way they could return empty-handed and so someone had to cross the sea and continue the search. And everyone, including Hanuman felt unequal to the task. And it was left to Jambavan to go over to Hanuman and cheer him up reminding the tremendous powers he had.
That did the trick.
Raam himself was always prone to forget that he was the incarnation of the very Vishnu; and behaved like a human. That is one reason why Raamaayan is charming, even to RKN to take the trouble of narrating the story in English.
During the course of the battle, Raam was deeply depressed that none of his astras (missiles) was good enough to kill Raavan (the secret had to be revealed to him by Vibhishan later). So, one morning he was sitting gloomily wondering what to do:
Tato yuddha parishrantam samarey chinthayasthitam
Raavanam chagrato drshtwa yuddhaya samupasthitam
Raavanam chagrato drshtwa yuddhaya samupasthitam
Then, seeing Raam's desperation, Sage Agasthya (of the Frogs blog) walks down to Raam and cheers him up by teaching him the loveliest adoration called: Aaaditya Hridayam and asks him to recite it.
That did the trick.
Arjun was rather obtuse: he needed the entire 18-Chapter Bhagavadgita to be taught by Krishna right in the middle of the battlefield even before killing started. Not yet convinced, he had to be shown the 4-D show called the Vishwarupa Sandarshan, before he could be cheered up to start killing.
But that did the trick.
There is a charming story of how Gautma, the Buddha, in search of Enlightenment follows the prevalent path of extreme austerities, but in vain. And then he happens to listen to a group of village belles playing soul-fulfilling music on their lutes; and understands by simile that just as a lute won't play when its strings are too tight or too loose, so he should invent the Middle Path.
And Sujata did the trick of feeding him the first morsel after days of going hungry.
So, every individual and nation when in distress needs cheerleaders.
When London was being bombed relentlessly, it was Chruchill who cheered up the Nation with his soul-stirring speeches:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6llT2ZYg-4E
So much so that the shopkeepers of London (ridiculed by Napoleon) kept their shops grittily open; and, when bombed to smithereens, they hung placards: "Shop More Open!"
Even the young boys and girls of the US surprised me by their Obama slogan:
"Yes, we can!"
It was so heartening that I couldn't make out who was cheering whom: Obama or the young ones. There is a flash word for it which I never used so far: synergy.
If you live as long as I, you would realize that there were situations when you were down in the dumps but someone acts as your cheerleader (if you are lucky). It could be a friend, a wife, a son, a guru, a student or even a stranger.
Once, in 1971, I was stranded on the Howrah Station Platform about to board the Madras Mail on a family mission. And felt that I would be so comfortable if I had a hundred rupee note in my pocket (I had only a fifty rupee note). And lo and behold, there came along totally unexpectedly a friend of mine (NP) and pushed a hundred rupee note into my pocket, and left like Sage Agastya:
Asmin kshaney mahabaho raavanam twam vadhishyasi
Evamuktvaa tathagastyo jagaamacha yathaagatam
Evamuktvaa tathagastyo jagaamacha yathaagatam
It was one of those unexplained miracles.
And after marriage, my wife routinely played my cheerleader when needed most, bless her!
So, here is three cheers for all cheerleaders of the world!
****************************************************************************************************************
Tailpiece
Today's DC carries an article by my favorite, Paul Krugman (NL), in which he lampoons S&P:
"...If there's a single word that best describes the rating agency's decision to downgrade America, it's chutzpah---traditionally defined by the example of the young man who kills his parents, then pleads for mercy becasue he's an orphan...
...Before downgrading US debt, S&P sent a preliminary draft of its press release to the US Treasury. Officials there quickly spotted a $2 trillion error in S&P's calculations...After discussion, S&P conceded it was wrong---and downgraded America anyway, after removing some of the economic analysis from its report...."
gps: This reminded me of the chutzpah of a Senior Professor Z whose marking of M Sc scripts I had to officially 'scrutinize'.
And his questions were all essay type. One student forgot to label his Question Numbers serially (KGPians were queer). So, when I looked into the script closely, I found that Q. Nos 4 and 5 were answered without a break. And Professor Z thought it was a single question answered ok, and gave him 12 out of 15 in the margin.
And I took the script to him and showed that the poor chap answered both the questions one after the other without a big break and so he deserves twice 12 marks (I rather knew the subject cursorily).
Professor Z looked up and down and down and up and back and forth and forth and back and struck out the 12 and replaced it by a 6 and another 6 so his total on the top page didn't change...
He was rather immutable, like the Himalayas before our generation...
I simply passed on the message to the concerned student so he could go and bargain, which was officially allowed...but didn't follow it up...one should do just the proper thing, no more-no less..
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