Thursday, October 30, 2014

Trivialization - Repeat Telecast

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Aunt Dahlia telephones Bertie Wooster and asks him to go at once to that antique shop in Bond Street, ask the dealer for his 16th century silver cow-creamer and when he fetches it, sneer at it, and say that it looks like a fake 20th century poor imitation. The idea is to make the dealer reduce its price when Uncle Tom visits the place after lunch so that he is tickled pink and mellowed enough for her to touch him for a check to meet the expenses for the Milady's Boudoir she runs at a perennial loss.

Cousin Angela was aquaplaning at Cannes, French Riviera, when she slips from her board, takes a tumble in the blue Mediterranean, and as she gets back aboard, a great brute of a shark keeps snapping at her ankles till she is rescued by and by. It was since called Angela's Shark. She relates the horrifying incident to Tuppy, her betrothed, and he says there are no sharks at Cannes, and it may just be a floating log or a flatfish...and phut goes their engagement.

It is so easy to trivialize with or without intention.

The first I heard of Einstein's Relativity was from my Complex Variables tutor Dr J in 1961:

 http://gpsastry.blogspot.in/2011/01/condescension.html 

He said: 


"Physics people say it is the greatest achievement of the century. But is just Riemannian Geometry" 

Since I knew neither, I kept quiet.

And as I said before, Truesdell is said to have dismissed Newtonian Mechanics as nothing but the solutions of a class of second order differential equations. 

And when Dirac presented his Angular Momentum Algebra at Princeton the mathematicians there said it is nothing but well-known Group Theory.

Examples abound in which some mathematicians think they understand the whole of physics because they are familiar with the equations they see in Physics texts and papers. Feynman said that such mathematicians contribute little to physics and less to mathematics.

I don't blame them because Physicists also do the same thing when they see Engineering Books. They dismiss Civil Engg as Newtonian Mechanics with whiskers, Mechanical Engg as more of the same with Thermodynamics added as a pinch of salt, and Electrical Engg as nothing but solutions of Maxwell's Equations.

Of course they are horribly wrong, as any trivialization is.

I had a problem at IIT KGP with professors of Maths and Chemistry who were at one time invited to the Grand Viva Board of our outgoing Third Year students because they take these two subjects as compulsory electives.

At that time I was teaching Special Relativity to the third years in my own pedestrian way; and there were a couple of professors in the Math Dept who were publishing papers in the best General Relativity Journals. They would sneer at Special Relativity as an obsolete joke and ask the poor student if she had heard of Einstein's Field Equations. And she would stand dumbfounded and look at me for help thinking that my teaching was at fault. I had to then go to the blackboard and write down Einstein's Field Equations that I learned with difficulty from Weinberg. And ask the student to derive Length  Contraction and Time Dilation from them. And look pleadingly at our Math Guest Professor to help her out...And that was that as far as that viva went...because there were rumors that, while teaching the Introductory Chapter on STR to Math students, their GR professors were getting Length Dilation and Time Contraction at will, and said it was ok since these are trivial and won't appear in their GR Question Papers.

So it is not true that if you know the general case you know the special cases.

I had similar trouble with the good old Chemistry Guest Viva Professors. The Chem Dept used to send their QM experts since Quantum Mechanics was fancy physics at that time. And they thought Schrodinger Equation is the summum bonum of QM. And they had perhaps forgotten the little Classical Mechanics they had learned in their first year UG. And they would ask our student to write down the Schrodinger Equation and then ask for its 'solutions'. And the student would be baffled. And I would suggest perhaps the Professor means the Particle in the Box...and the Chem Prof would nod his head since the best of Chemistry UG text books started this way...they had little use for Free Particle Solutions which they thought were trivial.

Once I wanted to have some fun and asked the student, after he wrote down his Schrodinger Equation with its Planck's Constant (h) in the right place, to take the limit as h tends to zero and get Newton's Law  "F = ma".  Just for fun. And heard that later on this was a raging question in the Chemistry Dept.

Once again to warn us that nothing is trivial...if you know QM it doesn't mean you know CM...

Physics ought to teach us modesty since the whole Universe is the subject matter of Physics. Indeed, when funds for the Superconducting Super Collider dried up and the multi-million dollar project was getting scuttled midway, theoretical and mathematical physicists delved into what they called:

"Quantum Consciousness"... 


I don't know what transpired of it but there are still 260,000 results (in 0.24 seconds) with Roger Penrose in the wiki.

Maybe it is our next challenge after the God Particle...




...Posted by Ishani


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Chatpata - Repeat Telecast

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Once upon a time at IIT KGP in the 1960s there was a famous professor in the ME Department by name Professor Mokadam. Legend and rumor had it that he was fresh from Stanford or Caltech or even MIT...well nobody I knew asked him point blank...so we leave it at that. For, rumors in the Halls of Residence spread like wild fire without a spark to ignite them. Aniket tells us that he was told emphatically that one of our Physics Faculty did his Ph D under Feynman himself...

But there was little doubt that Prof Mokadam was a world-class expert in Heat Engines and sat in the first floor office of the Heat Engines Lab. And the brusque way he dealt with his students and Research Scholars confirmed the reputation of his no-nonsense mastery of his subject. It was said that at the end of a year of teaching Thermodynamics to his M Tech students, when they went to thank him for all the good things he taught them, he apparently got up and said:

"This year has been the greatest failure of my life...I couldn't drill a single concept of the subject through your thick skulls"


He had an M Tech student, Nagarajan, in whom he put the fear of God...absolutely. And one day, my friend VR (Radhakrishnan) of CHE Department and a close friend of Nagarajan, wanted to pinch a few ml of mercury from the Heat Engines Lab for his thesis work and asked Nagarajan to help him out. And Nagarajan told him to come after 12.30 lunch time by when Mokadam would have safely left home for his lunch. And VR gave a few more minutes leeway and was walking up the stairs of the Heat Engines Lab. And saw Mokadam hurrying down the steps, late for his lunch...he stopped; and VR told me the crisp dialogue that ensued:

"Who the hell are you?"


"A friend of Nagarajan, sir!"


"Get out! No friend of that Nagarajan is welcome in my Lab!"


There was also this story of how his Interview went at IIT KGP. Apparently the Local Expert started asking Mokadam (leading perhaps to bigger things):

"State Second Law of Thermodynamics"


This got Mokadam's goat since that is a question we ask routinely in the second year viva. And so he snorted like a bull and said:

"There are six different ways of stating the Second Law of TD. Tell me which one you want and which one you know...Claussius's, Kelvin's, Caratheodary's etc...and finally Mokadam's"



That is a nice gambit I learned to use often (I leak it out...take it or leave it). When someone asks you in the class room or outside a question you can answer, sort of, you straighten yourself a bit and start:

"There are at least 3 ways of looking at it...first..."


And by the time you drag on the (first) answer you know, the chaps would have been so impressed that they won't ask you for the second and third...fearing it would take even more of their valuable time.

I employed it with some finesse in my third interview at KGP. Professor Shankar Lal (Diro) was the Chairman and HNB was the smiling HoD. The SINP expert asked me:

"Tell us about Cherenkov Emission (my thesis topic)"


"There are six different ways of explaining it....from the simplest to the fanciest...let me take the simplest..."


"Why? Why?? Why??? Tell us the fanciest!"


And that led me to talk what I badly wanted to talk of...Toraldo di Francia and the evanescent waves that is really nice and I later used in my PRS paper with KK.


Prof HNB was in the Chair while the public seminar (synopsis submission) of a smart RS was on. And I was a curious onlooker from the backbench.

There was a sort of spat between HNB and the thesis joint-guide of this RS as his work progressed...one of the risks of bigamy...HNB then withdrew his name. As the talk progressed, HNB sat silent and this encouraged the young chap to brag about his work. And HNB couldn't stand it any longer and pointed out an inconsistency between the results of two readings presented by him. Neither the RS nor his witnessing guide could answer the query properly as was evident from the audience reaction.

Finally the young one shrugged his shoulders and said abruptly:

"O, well! This has been accepted for publication in the forthcoming issue of Physical Review"


"You have done a great disservice to the scientific community...retract your paper immediately!"


Silence!!! 




...Posted by Ishani

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Handycrafts - Repeat Telecast

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As I said earlier:

http://gpsastry.blogspot.in/2011/09/frog-party.html 

I make it a rule to avoid all 'Old Students Reunions' of retired folks. I do receive many phone calls from one or the other of my classmates at AU a half century ago, intimating me the date and time and venue of their Get-Togethers, saying they very much want to see me and talk of 'our good old days'. They do nothing of the sort...they talk about their own careers including post-retirement achievements.

To be honest I must say I feel a terrific inferiority complex regarding my own career, which can be summed up as:

"I joined as a teacher at 21 at KGP and retired as a teacher at 62"


As for my post-retirement glories I have only this to say that I fell into one of the deepest clinical depressions, and am still to recover (according to my six sisters and in-laws). They think depression is a kind of madness, which it is not...I am not saying I am not mad...but that has nothing to do with my depression...it is an add-on.

In this connection I recall an amusing incident relating to my IAS B-i-L who always has many condescending things to say about teachers and their profession in general. About three years back he was in Hyderabad as our guest and asked me if I could drop him at the residence of one of his retired IAS colleagues in my Maruti matchbox. I agreed to drive him to the address on Road #12 Banjara Hills, a poshish place. And he was sitting beside me in the front seat talking all the time about the Cadre (much like foot-soldiers talk about their Paltan) which I didn't mind. But somewhere down the line he started decrying the uselessness of teachers implying he survived many of his teachers' teachings and rose from ashes like the Phoenix...I never heard him praise or even mention any of his teachers willy-nilly.

That, sort of got my goat and I pretended to take offense and swerved the car to the kerb, stopped, and looked sharply at him. And I could see terror in his eyes, like a mouse trapped in his cage, his left hand automatically grip the door-handle, and his right my driving hand soothingly...

But a year ago I got a phone call from Dr KM saying he got my phone number with much difficulty and wanted to see me. And I jumped up and told him the route to my apartment, a good 40 km from his home. And within a couple of days he arrived much to my delight and was welcomed warmly by my entire family because I told them he was my best buddy and cared for me for three eventful years in my student life.

The real reason I was eager to meet him was that I recalled he had the best hand-waving mannerisms I have ever seen though he is not aware of it. When he speaks, which I make it a point often to do, his right hand is never at rest...it is dancing this way and that to emphasize the small point he is making...and he is modesty personified. And he didn't disappoint me...after these many years this cute mannerism remains as good as ever.

The other day he once again called and said he is coming down with another alumnus of AU (Phy), Dr SR, two years my senior whom I couldn't place. The visit was ostensibly to condole us. And we welcomed them in and made them comfortable in the sofa and my son, D-i-L, and Ishani were all there sitting on the floor listening. And it was once again delightful to watch the hand-dance of KM for all of two hours.

And to make the occasion not very embarrassing, I started asking Dr SR about his career and the gambit went off like magic. Dr SR does have a remarkable career. After his MSc at AU, he was appointed as a young Scientific Officer at BARC, a coveted post, but he resigned within a year since he was shunted to the Electronics Division to repair the umpteen gadgets that others fouled up. And he went to a prestigious school in Germany and did his Ph D in Nuclear Physics there..and then went to Africa and shifted from place to place like Nigeria, Zimbabwe, Kenya setting up Nuclear Physics Departments there. After getting bored with Africa, he went to Malaysia and retired after 20 years as a Professor in Suva, Fiji!!!  

That sounded almost like from Maugham. 


My wife grew up in her grandfather's place from her very infancy. And that was a place full of uncles, aunts, cousins, drivers, cooks and stuff...her granpa was an Executive Engineer.

So she learned to adjust with people and she needed a lot of that skill when she married me and settled down in that God-forsaken Campus of IIT KGP. And she was modest without a chip on her shoulder although she was an MD.

Her proudest moment was when she gifted me a bonny son pretty soon after our marriage. I traveled to Jalgaon full of curiosity to have a peek at the chap and pleaded with the nurse to let me in for a few minutes. She agreed and asked me to go to Bed # 5. And I found it was vacant and I was scared till I was told that she had been taken to the OT for a routine removal of the stitches.

And then I caught sight of a crib by the side of the bed in which was sleeping soundly what could only have been my son. And I tried to wake him up by gently poking in his ribs to no avail...he just opened his left eye inquiringly, smiled wanly, and went to sleep again. 

And then my wife walked in with the proudest ever light in her eyes...she had apparently every reason to be proud of her newborn son...even I have occasionally ;)

I thought she was totally devoid of any mannerism; till a good 15 years after our marriage when a campus telephone was installed in our Qrs. And then I watched her speak to her friends by the hour starting with what was on the day's menu to what Mrs R said about Mrs P...

And I discovered to my great pleasure  that she had this enchanting hand-waving gesture while she talked on the phone...one hand holding the phone while the other hand was constantly dancing. These gestures of hers gave me great pleasure till very recently. 

And a few days before her death I talked about it to her, implying I was free from mannerisms...

And she retorted:

"You perhaps don't know that when you lie down supine on your bed after keeping aside the book you were reading, your left hand involuntarily goes onto your chest as if you were having a heart-ache while your right hand reaches out to grip whatever is available...pocket-torch, cell phone, spects-case, or my hand!


How true!!!




...Posted by Ishani

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Our Own Wrecking Crew - Repeat Telecast

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Let me briefly describe the shuttling mannerisms of our own Wrecking Crew.

Mrs T was not all that short...her bat was too tall for her rather. And she was 'healthy'.

This euphemism was taught me by my friend SVT hailing from the heart of UP as he used to claim...Bulandshahr...which it is far from, as Wiki Maps tell me. He said when you wish to sell your rather stout sister in the bridal market, you say: 


"Oh, she is healthy (tandurust)" 

And when a married lady asks you if she looks obese, you don't go saying "yes" if you don't want to be hit on your head with her roller-pin...you say: 

"Bilkul nahi...absolutely not...what rot...bas aur nahi"


And it was obvious from her demeanor that Mrs T was the boss of her home sweet home. I discovered the secret behind wives who dominate by leaps and bounds in their household. It is when they gift their hubbies a plethora of male children. Each succeeding male issue boosts their egos and their power exponentially. That is how, the psycho-historians tell us, Gandhari turned her hubby blind...he was physically blind to start with...but he became morally blind too when she delivered her hundredth son...she never allowed him to touch any one of her sons...and did it with her eyes closed.

Professor T was not that gifted...they had a mere three hardy boys. The Club and me wouldn't have known nor cared of their existence had the three li'l sweets (aged equi-spaced between 2 and 6) not invariably accompanied their parents to the Club. The Caretaker Das was told to 'look after' them for the nonce. Das was too old, too timid, and too cowed down to spank them where it hurt them most. So, the threesome in turn wrecked the antique furniture in the Hall. I never could guess what the innards of a sofa looked, springs and all, had they not treated it as their trampoline day after hopeless day. They were gamboling and jumboling over it like in this video :

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TK27aknWVI4 


But for them the Club would never have got new and unbreakable furniture.

And Mrs T always wore what perhaps was the most unsuitable sporting gear for badminton which is a game where footwork, if not leaps and bounds, was of the essence. She always wore a figure-hugging silk sari which, as you know, doesn't permit you to bend or bow down easily...not even when you tuck up one end of it showing your slip. So, she sort of became the Event Manager of her side of the court, giving instructions and encouragement to her partner to do all the running and jumping, giving a shuttle-to-shuttle commentary...and that was that as far as she was concerned. And criticizing and showing him how that particular shot ought to be played...in retrospect.

We could never hear what Professor T was saying in reply...he must have been equally unheard when he taught tricky things like Anti-Markownikoff's Rule in his class room...unless his teaching mannerisms dramatically metamorphosed as soon as he saw 40 IITians in his class room....it happens you know.

For instance our own Raamda (Prof RGC) had such a stammer while he spoke to me...we shared office for a couple of years...that I wondered how he acquired the reputation of the 'best teacher' of our department. And MSS told me that he once spied on him watching outside the class room door. And found to his astonishment that after the Roll Call was somehow gone through and RGC picked up his piece of chalk and reached the blackboard, he was a totally different man...silver-tongued...nothing less.

Professor T was tall and lean...so lean that all his joints could be seen in action on the court...for...he never believed in moving from where his wife put him...right behind her...so that the umpteen shuttles she missed could be 'covered' by him. His reach was such that he could bend and twist and turn and tilt every which way and cover half the court...like a universal joint...he never bothered about the other half....for he always wore chappals to the court.


The scene on the other side of the court was sort of a mirror image. Mrs S, no less healthy, was better dressed for action. She was in what South Indians call Punjabi Dress: salwar kameez (or is it churidar kurta?) with the dupatta worn like a judo black belt. The legs were now freer to move around the court, if there was a will to move, which Mrs S certainly had, compared to her hubby. She was quiet on the court, wanted to enjoy her outing, smiling and laughing intermittently. It was nice to watch the spirit in which she took the game.

On the other hand, Professor S seemed to have walked in straight from his Office: he wore his white shirt with stripes over his dark pant and was always wearing his Ambassador shoes, which must have weighed something like the chain of a mini-elephant. It didn't bother him since he never moved from his front post where he stood stock still and kept up a drawl, low in volume, and unvarying in pitch. What he was saying could be deciphered only by Mrs S, who would suddenly stop playing and laugh like a tickled child of 2, and give him a thappad with her bat on his ample butt...he must have said something juicy and it was your guess as good as mine at whose expense the joke was. And he would look grave and continue his drawl... 


His drawl reminded me of the mason, Subbu, who was commissioned to build our Attached Bathroom at Gudur:

http://gpsastry.blogspot.in/2011/01/bathroom-i-built.html 

When I first met him, Subbu said he was 50...but his half a dozen grandkids laughed and said he was 50 ever since they were born...and he chased them around his front-yard. He was more like 70 and his eyesight was no better than mine now (entering into my 70s in a month). But he was recommended by one and all and he came in with his Assistant who was in his twenties. It was not on the basis of BOT or anything like that since they insisted that they would work only on daily wages...which they did diligently till the walls came up halfway, when they were sure that they had me in their grip. After which they relaxed, smoking beedis, and gossiping.

And my mom was getting restless at the slow pace of their work and asked me to 'invigilate'...something I always hated. And slave-driving is not in my blood...rather it is the other way round...folks had to chase me to stop gathering wool and do something useful. So, I used to sit down in my chair and dream. And Subbu would start drawling in low monotone incessantly and his Assistant would suddenly get up and burst into peals of laughter. And I would wake up with a quizzical look as if asking what was the good joke...they would fall silent and pretend to get busy with their trowels and threads and plumb lines and bricks and cement and I would get back to my daydreams. And after a few minutes the drawl would restart and end in another peal of laughter from the Assistant...and it went on...and I was unable to decipher who was the butt of Subbu's jokes. Till, one day I went in and watched the twosome closely from behind a window. And I discovered that every time the young one got up and burst into laughter, a dame was walking along the streets...Subbu in his 70s!!!

But once he got down to work, it was a pleasure to watch Subbu...he was a wizard with his trowel.

At first I thought trowel was an implement to spread cement on brick-work and smooth it. But in Subbu's hand it was much more. He would use its sharp sides to chip and break bricks, its handle like an inverted hammer, its nose to scoop out the innards of brick-joints like a woodpecker, turn it and use it to sprinkle water...it was all-in-all for him..and his hands had a grace that was a treat to watch...it is always like that watching a wizard with his tools.

Once I employed a rickshawala in Gudur with his covered rickshaw, like a palanquin, to transport all the paraphernalia I rented from the Tent-Utensil Shop to the Marriage Hall. The entire stuff was laid out on the roadside...huge tarpaulins with their bamaboo poles, 50 folding chairs, vessels to feed a hundred and more, ladles, spoons, plates, frying pans and pots and cauldrons, the list was endless. And I thought our rickshawala would need at least three trips. And, lo and behold, he was magical in packing them up in (and on) his hooded rickshaw. He took less than ten minutes and everything was up and he said: "Chaliye!" asking me to get in too...

It was such a pleasure watching him that I gave him a hefty tip and re-employed him for the marriages of my next two sisters there...   




...Posted by Ishani

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Squatters & Teachers - Repeat Telecast

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The Shuttle-Badminton Wrecking Crew of our Faculty Club consisted of two elderly couples, Prof and Mrs T, and, Prof and Mrs S.

The cardinal mistake they did (from the point of view of onlookers) was that they persisted in inbreeding...Mrs T never forsook Prof T as her partner nor did Mrs S cease to cling to Prof S, as if it were a part of their marriage vows. 

So, the shuttle-warfare was not so much against their opponents but between wives and their (respective) husbands...it looked like a continuation of their bedroom quarrels. It would have been compensatory fun for waiting onlookers if they quarreled in English or Hindi or Bengali or any one of the recognized Indian Languages listed on our Rs 100 Note. Mrs T chided Prof T in maybe Tulu, while Prof S continually emitted his non-stop growl of his wife's style of play in a subdued monologue in one of the obscure dialects of Punjabi.

The trouble with our own Badminton was that the Faculty Club didn't have an indoor court...it was too poor to afford one. So, it was an outdoor affair and the only season when it could be indulged in was the evanescent KGP winter, say between November and January. And that too for two hours in the evening between 5.30 and 7.30. After that the breeze picked up and the course of the shuttlecock in its flight became as unpredictable as those of paper rockets hurled by backbenchers at the frontbench dames...it was always hit and miss.

And in the Beginning there was only one badminton court at the backyard of our Club, visible from our Faculty Hostel. All that two of us, myself and OM, both in our twenties, wanted was just a good game that would warm us up for the rest of the night. And before we could jump the fence separating our Hostel from the Club after our Tea, we would see the joint-arrival of the two couples as if on a perfectly coordinated mission. We would see them sitting on the grass on either side of the net even before it was put up by our shuttle-boy, the younger son of Das, the Caretaker of the Club. I was then not aware of the word, but today I would call them the Squatters Supreme.

I guess Prof T and Prof S arranged their time-tables with their Time Table-in-Charges so they had their last periods off. Or better, they may have fought for it and became Time Table Makers of their respective Departments.

I have some experience of this Time Table Business. One day during 1976, I was called to the Office of our HoD, HNB. And without so much as a prelude, he said that I would be the Time-Table-in-Charge of the Physics Department for the next three-year term. 

The Phy Dept then was huge...it had 35 Faculty Members, some of them as cantankerous as the fish-buyers at Tech Market (before the arrival of fridges). And I was about the junior-most. And there were as many as 5 Courses of Physics, compulsory for all students of B Tech...so it was a serious affair. And so, I protested meekly to HNB that I had no talent for such an onerous PR job, I wouldn't learn any Physics from it, and that I wouldn't enjoy it, so I don't want to do it, please sir...

He then asked:

"Sure you don't want to do it?"


"Yes, sir...I mean, No sir"


"That is precisely why I want you to do it...most everybody in the Department approached me offering their services"


So that was that...the HNB style of administration. I couldn't guess for a long time why any sane person would want to do it.

The high-point in the schedule of the Departmental Time Table Makers was attending the Meetings called by the Central Time Table Maker...a sort of Archbishop. During my tenure the Archbishop was an old and meek Professor from the ECE Dept. His Meetings would be attended by the 14 rowdies from their respective Departments. And the old gent was so gentle that from the beginning to the end of the meeting he would be shouted at by most everyone wanting convenient 'slots' for their Departments. It was such a mess that I felt sad for the old man but I could never fathom why he wanted that odious job at all or why he continued it for an additional term.

In my first Central Committee Meeting, I found my friend VR from the CHE Department and sat beside him. He was surprised that an antisocial like me would be chosen as the Phy Representative and I had to explain that the job was forced on me. And then I asked him why such a lazy lubber like him, fond of reading novels in his spare time, and sticking like a leech to the Time and Newsweek magazines in our Faculty Club, took up this time-consuming social service job. And he said:

"To hell with social service...as you know, I am a late-riser and the advantage of being a Time Table Maker is that on my virgin TT template I first fill in my convenient slots, and the rest of them can go to hell...this is my third term and I fight like the devil in my Department to cling on to it"


So, there you are...secret revealed...

For, the day I took charge, Senior Professor X barged into my room and said that the new Senate Norms entitled Professors to have only 6 hours of teaching load per week (the average was 15)...mind you!... And I asked him why. And he said:

"We have to attend so many Senate Committee and Sub-Committee Meetings"


"But Professor HNB asked me to equalize the teaching load for all teachers irrespective of their designations...please talk to him and let me know"


He never returned.

And Prof Y, gunning for the next Headship, ran  into my room and ordered:

"Don't give me any first period classes"


"Why not?"


"I suffer from constipation...you know!"


"I don't know...please talk to HNB"


And it went on and on and on...like these blogs...  





...Posted by Ishani

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Locos & Buffaloes - Repeat Telecast

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The first time I saw a shuttlecock was when, out of boredom, I enrolled as a member of the Faculty Club at IIT KGP...I don't know if I am still a member since the mills of our Faculty Club grind as slowly and ponderously as the shaft of the oil mill I saw in my Village, Muthukur, where a well-fed buffalo was yoked to it and went round and round in everlasting circles...he was blindfolded, like I was at KGP, figuratively, so he thought he was covering a great distance, say from Muthukur to Nellore, while all the while he was at his oil mill...man truly is the most cunning animal.

When I first saw two shuttle-boys tossing a shuttlecock nonchalantly, I figured they must be great masters at the game...the shuttlecock was not at all like my wool-ball which was round and figureless...while the shuttlecock had a wine glass figure; and to keep hitting its bottom all the time must need a terrific skill, I thought. It required only a couple of days practice for me to discover the trick...


"Don't look at the shuttlecock...just keep hitting it looking where you want it to go"

...like in an argument with your wife, figuratively again.

It is a nice thing to be born naive...life holds such lovely mysteries for you. When my Father took me to Nellore when I was about 5 and we were watching the steam locomotive doing its stuff...chugging along the tracks...chug chug chug...I kept staring at the Engine Driver who had a sort of steering wheel in front of him but was not 'steering'...his hands were off the wheel and he was waving his hands at me. I wondered aloud what an expert he should be since he could steer the huge engine so that it precisely followed the tracks and didn't slip off by not staring at the railway tracks that took a curve in their course. Father just laughed me away. It was only much later I saw that he used his 'steering wheel' assiduously only he wanted to reverse...the steam loco had only two continuous gears...forward and reverse. 

Everything about the steam locomotive was a mystery since she was as open as a barn, with all her machinery visible to the naked eye. These mechanical engineers are mantriks...I knew how to convert a rotation into translation...keep the spinning ball on the ground and it takes off like a rocket. But they do the reverse...like in a steam loco...the piston-rod thing is in translation as you can see for yourself in a steam loco; and they have all sorts of cams and eccentric stuff to convert it into a rotation of the driving wheel. I also wondered everyday at the machinery in a Pfaff sewing machine which taught me the lesson of my life:

 http://gpsastry.blogspot.in/2009/10/teacher-is-born-with-lesson.html 

You just oscillate the pedal swinging your feet this way and that, and the sewing needle goes up and down!!!

Coming back to the steam loco, I used to wonder at the peculiar shape of the rail with a T-shaped rounded section on which rides the equally queer wheel with its flange...the two defied my common sense...I thought they should be tight-fit. Till Prof MSS (again) explained to me that the steam loco didn't have a 'differential', unlike an automobile; and the loose fitting between the wheel and the track automatically serves the purpose of providing for different turning radii of the inner wheel and the outer on a bend. How devious a design!!! I hereby withdraw all disparaging comments I might have made about Mechanical Engineers so far except when they try to ridicule Physics:

http://gpsastry.blogspot.in/2010/03/physics-of-sex.html


Talking of mechanical engineers, and buffaloes, watching them take their daily bath in the roadside pond is a mood elevator for little Ishani. Nowadays she has started going to school. And every morning as soon as she wakes up and has her tumbler of reluctant milk, she walks into my bedroom and announces cheerfully:

"I won't go to school today"

And I don't like to spoil her great mood...and her mom arrives and sweeps her off...

Kids are great at adjusting...an hour later, she is all dressed up in her cute uniform and waves me 'bye'. And I tell her I would come to her school as part of her Welcome Party. And as she leaves her school she looks glum for a few minutes till her daddy on our way back halts his car by the roadside pond and asks her to have a look at the buffaloes bathing their hearts out. And her mood swings back to buoyancy watching the floating buffaloes. 

Yesterday I watched closely the herd of buffaloes on their expectant way to the pond....each trying to outrun the others pushing and shoving...like the devotees waiting for the temple gates to open on a Shiv Ratri Day. And I found their faces immersed in a profound pool of devout hope...as they say:

"It is better to travel hopefully than to arrive" (in mud)  









...Posted by Ishani

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Toddy Shanty- Repeat Telecast

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The one thing my Father taught me in school (other than English) was Badminton. I became not only the school champion but also represented our school as the 'Center' in the Griggs Memorial Tournament at the RSR High School in Nellore where we were beaten but not bruised.

Reading 'Badminton' you may think it is the "Shuttle Badminton" played by the ruling Bollywood Star (the dot-product of the Champion) who I watched on screen playing the thing while dancing like a duck in flames...repulsive to the core...I mean you either dance or play games...you can't do both at once...not done.

The Badminton we had at school was called "Ball Badminton" because it was played with a ball and not the feathers of a duck-chick plucked from its left wing only as Wiki tells me...why left wing, it doesn't say.

The ball we played with was about half the size of a tennis ball in diameter. We used to call it a 'wool-ball'. It had as much wool in it as 'pin-drop-silence' has pins.

Wool, my foot...any type of wool couldn't be got for love or money in and around Madras...it never sold...the climate was too hot. When I was an RS at AU, Waltair, a chap arrived who called himself Pool Officer. And he said he was from Madison, Wisconsin, rhyming the two words nasally. And he was living in the hostel and always wore the same shirt and pant. We wondered how, and he said he wears a Woolen Pant and Terylene Shirt combo that needed no washing or ironing. 

We were all flummoxed and the next evening I went to Maitrani Brothers slyly and asked the counter chap if he had a woolen pant my size and he said, yes, he could get it sized in a day. The next day he gave me my one and only woolen pant for half my scholarship money. It was honey-colored with a crease as sharp as a knife and I loved it. I asked him if he had any terylene shirt within my budget. And he said, yes, he had a serylene shirt (no spelling mistake there) that covered my situation. I asked him if it was wash and wear and he said "yes, sort of"...it turned out to be "wash and tear"...it got a lot of holes in it of different sizes in a random array but I did wear it alright because it was so ventilating. 

Coming to the woolen pant, I could only wear it once...it was so warm. I kept it for cool weather which never arrived till I went to KGP which does have winter, sort of. But when I wore it to the BCRoy Hall Mess, I turned out to be a messy eater and chunks of Aaloordum fell on its thigh and there was no way I could remove the mustard oil blotches from it...aaloo part was easy. 

My CHE friend NCN said he learned all about surface active reagents and stuff in his class room and he knew that the mustard oil map can be removed by petrol-wash...he explained that there is a 'technique' to it. Don't go pouring petrol over the stained blotch...that would only make the smudge larger. One has to pour petrol 'around' the blotch and watch the petrol shrink the oil spot smaller and smaller and smaller till it becomes a 'point-mound' when you just peel it off with your fingers and wash your hands. After a while the petrol evaporates leaving no vestige of the oil or petrol. It all sounded fantastic science to me and I wondered at the profound wisdom of these Chemical Engineers.

So, both of us went to Harry's Petrol Pump carrying an ounce glass NCN picked up from his lab and pocketed. The bouncer there bounced us saying they sell petrol in gallons and not ounces...SCRAM!

And then NCN assured me he knew where he could lay his hands on an ounce of petrol...just leave it to him. And in the night he arrived carrying his petrol and went to work on my woolen pant's thigh diligently. After the elaborate process of petrol-stain-shrinkage-removal was gone through and the fat cluster was picked off triumphantly, we waited for the petrol to evaporate...it did, in seconds...but left a larger smudge of shiny oil. And he then caught his head in his hands and said:

"Oh, shit! I forgot that the petrol I stole from Takhlate's scooter had 2T oil mixed with it!"


So the pant went as usual to Chinta, the bearer boy, by and by, and he went high on it for a whole week.

Talking of toddy and its country cousins, I recall the visit of a Telugu couple to our Faculty Hostel at KGP. They were going to Cal to stay with her brother and watch the famed Calcutta Durga Puja, and on their way they broke their journey at KGP for a couple of days to see IIT, equally famed. And they were my guests because they were friends of my friends at Walatir. Using my influence I got a 'suite' booked for them. 

That evening the gent borrowed my age-old push-bike and coolly disappeared and his wife was all agony and distress. After a couple of hours he cycled back wobbly and joined us for dinner and ate a silent hearty meal. And we retired to their suite. The wife called me aside and told me secretly not to believe a syllable of what her hubby was going to say. Well, he did say many many intimate things till day-break.

And in between I could smell ethanol in his breath and asked him where he vanished in the evening. He replied that he went in search of country liquor to which he was addicted. I asked him how and where he got it since he knew neither Hindi nor Bengali nor much of English...he was a minor Telugu poet. And he replied:

 "Simple...keep going going going till you find a tall tree hidden by a culvert with a dozen or so farmers or cowherds sitting in a circle and laughing their heads off...and waggle a Ten Rupee Note and you will be welcomed with open arms like a long-lost cousin"











...Posted by Ishani

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