Macnife's lucid ramblings

Cuppa' Joe

2011-12-16T08:37:00.002-07:00

Anger, apathy, the fire burns so cold. The flat grey sky above, the cold morning light, the world seems so indifferent. The sun is lost in clouds, having perhaps tired of the routine. It’s freezing out – at least there’s something to feel. Children walk to school rushing headlong towards a future of certain bleakness. The world, it would seem, has fallen off its axis. The morning’s news only makes it worse – greed, apathy and worst of all, naïve optimism. The fire burns brighter but it doesn’t warm – instead its harsh light makes the dullness even more impossible to ignore. The once comforting ritual of coffee brewing seems now oppressive and forced – enjoy this coffee before it turns to ashes in your mouth. And then, the coffee pot burbles plaintively and an aroma tickles the senses – the smell of what a morning ought to be, reminding of the faint ember of life that still glows in the corner, weak yet defiant. The first sip is a tidal wave of sensation and thought, the ground shifts underfoot, the world rights itself with a certain pure violence. Vast as the blackness is, it is nonetheless powerless to resist the flashlight beam cutting a swathe through it… context! In one glorious swoop, context redefines reality… I exist, I live, I thrive. And, people ask me why I don’t get my coffee at Starbucks…

Shifting sands

2011-12-16T00:07:00.012-07:00

Have you ever returned home from a trip to find it intangibly different from the way you left it? It’s happened to me lots of times. But always, the feeling has been transient. Except in the most recent case; and, this time, it wasn’t my apartment that felt vaguely alien. This summer, I traveled to Chennai (the city formerly known as Madras), India – the place I’ve thought of as home for some years now. However, when I finally landed there, after some drama with an overbooked connecting flight, there was a nagging emptiness, a lack of emotion that just wouldn’t go away.

[Cue a segue out of left field.] The feeling reminded me of a rather peculiar neurological disorder – it results from damage to the brain, specifically to the connections between the fusiform gyrus (the face-recognition area of the brain) and the amygdala (the emotional center of the brain). People with such damage suffer from a curious form of face blindness, where they recognize the faces of people they know but think the person to be an impostor. The rationale behind this pathology is rather simple: from memory, they recognize the pattern of the face but the recognition is not accompanied by an emotional response from the amygdala, as happens in healthy individuals. As a result, the brain concludes that the person, who looks familiar, must be an impostor.

Now that I’ve wandered hopelessly far from whence I started, let’s return rather abruptly to the main plot. The problem wasn’t that I was bothered by Madras having changed in my absence… I had noticed changes during every visit too. But it had always retained an ineffable quality that made it unmistakably Madras, unmistakably home. However, this time was different… it had changed in a way that I couldn’t quite put my finger on… I felt like I’d walked into someone else’s home, nonetheless at the location where mine had been. And what bothered me most was how indifferent I felt about this. What had changed?

Like a child relentlessly picking at a scab, I kept digging into my thoughts until the little voice in the back of my brain was suddenly a deafening scream: “Fuck it! Nothing is yours! Nothing remains!” Ah, at last, a clue! Despite the oppressive summer heat, the city felt cold, aloof, uncaring, even unfamiliar, it’s rhythm suddenly different from the one that had so mesmerized me years ago. I realized that the city once again felt every bit as unfamiliar as it did when I moved there in 1997. But what had changed about ‘my city’ that should bother me so? Or was it really I who had changed? Before I even began to find an answer, I knew it would have to involve both… I had certainly changed but the city had likely changed too.

The answer came to me in a stunning moment of clarity as I sat in a restaurant eating an excellently cooked dosa. The food was excellent, I was in the company of family… but something irked me still. And then I put my finger on it… it was the rest of the restaurant… the activity, the buzz, the palpable impatience – people wanted me out of there – the harried waiters who could no longer even feign politeness, the hungry customers with pocketfuls of cash waiting for a table…they all wanted me out of there. And that was it… there was simply no room to relax any more, the city was too busy being a rat race to be fun.

The why was easy enough to figure out – all I had to do was drink a few glasses of tea (yes, glasses, not cups) and keep my ears open. Road-side tea shops are the real nerve centers of Madras, where one feels the pulse of the city at its strongest. (And, I am mixing up my metaphors, I know.) So, there I was, sitting on a wooden bench drinking strong, sweet, creamy tea and listening. With each conversation, I felt my perspective widen, my understanding grow clearer.

As it often does, it all boils down to time and economics. The 21^st century has witnessed economic progress hit India and hit it has, with all the subtlety of a tropical cyclone and as much balance and planning as a riot. Not that it could have been much different – this is India after all, and we Indians jus do not do simple. And Madras has definitely kept pace with the rest of the country, if not led the charge. It’s visible – lots of shiny new Audis and BMWs on the roads, stores peddling every luxury brand under the sun. But not all is well – the nouveau riche must still drive their sports cars past the same old slums and at every stop light, they must still ignore the destitute beggars. In a city trying unabashedly to gentrify itself, land is at an all time premium and as the rent rises inexorably skyward, all but the very well heeled feel the ground eroding away from under their feet. All this has turned Madras into a city full of people hanging on with grim determination and desperate people do not have the time to be nice. And, so it is that the place I once called home has turned too cold and unfamiliar to give me the time of day now. Suddenly the saying that “home is where the heart is” seems like rather cold comfort indeed.

A Momentary Lapse to the Dark Side

2011-09-18T23:29:00.007-06:00

I was watching a documentary about the legendary Pink Floyd album The Dark Side of the Moon and something that Roger Waters said triggered off an avalanche of thoughts and memories. He talked about how “everything up to [a certain] point was preparation for life that would start later and [he] realized suddenly that life was already happening. [He] realized that life began at dot and at any time one could take control of it…” When he said that it made me think of my own life and the influence upon it of the Indian social context in which I grew up. The notion of education and ‘growing up’ being preparation for life that would start later is very much the way of thinking in Indian society. Even as I grew up being a good little hamster, keeping his wheel turning as fast as was demanded and then some, I began to question the fundamental principles that the worldview I’d been taught was predicated upon. By the time I was out of high school, I realized that the massive edifice of a life’s plan I’d constructed was built on a foundation of well, nothing. I also realized that the loneliest place an individual could find himself in the midst of a collectivistic society.
"And if the cloud bursts, thunder in your ear
You shout and no one seems to hear.
And if the band you're in starts playing different tunes
I'll see you on the dark side of the moon."
Lyrics like this suddenly felt a great deal more personal.

Thereupon followed the existential crisis and period of darkness that I imagine everyone goes through in some form and to some degree. Thinking back to those times brought to mind yet another bit of Pink Floyd brilliance, this time from the song Time…
"Hanging on in quiet desperation
Is the English way."

Whether it was the way life had always been in the subcontinent or a dark remnant on the Indian psyche of the colonial past, it is certainly how I looked upon the Indian experience of life in those days. At that thought surfaced memories, all to vivid, of fears past… fears best summarized by more Pink Floyd lyrics,
"And then one day you find ten years have got behind you
No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun."
And out of all this angst came the person I am today… someone consciously trying not to lose the here and the now in the formless mists of possible futures. Thinking back on all this I realize it’s no mystery why music and prog rock/metal resonates with me so strongly… it’s been, and continues to be, the soundtrack to my life. And every night, when I sleep, my fears come out to play in the dark garden of my dreams:
"The time is gone, the song is over,
Thought I'd something more to say."

A couple of first paragraphs

2011-06-13T21:20:00.004-06:00

Arguing with BULLSHIT

How could one, knowing fact from conjecture, knowing inference from observation, ever be totally certain? And without selling the truth short to put on a mask of certainty, how does one then debate the illogically obstinate? Employing logic against blind, stupid lunacy leaves one in much the same position as a wave crashing against a rock. How then does one deal with such a situation? How does one argue with BULLSHIT? More importantly, how does one keep at bay, cynicism and apathy? Perhaps, Max Planck was right when he said, “A scientific truth does not triumph by convincing its opponents and making them see the light, but rather because its opponents eventually die and a new generation grows up that is familiar with it.”

Cold Days

At times I wake up knowing that the day will be passed in quiet desperation. Some time during the night, my mind must have wandered somewhere dark and the old, familiar monkey is back upon my shoulder. First glimpse of daylight and I already feel tired… life, it seems, is an oppressive, utterly pointless tedium. I look out the window and the sky is an impenetrable mass of gray, which seems rather appropriate. I got through my morning routine – calisthenics, shower, coffee – even though every thing seems harder than usual. I step outside and there’s a cold wind blowing rain drops into my face like little, icy needles. Pile on the misery! But through all this, there’s a glimmer of something somewhere in a corner of my mind that tells me “This too shall pass.” So, I can’t stop, I can't even really slow down… I must just keep on keepin’ on.

The Linearity Trap

2011-06-13T21:06:00.003-06:00

I have not written for some time now – over a year – in part because I’ve not felt the need to put down any of my thoughts but also in part because I’ve been struggling to find the words to express myself with. There have been many, many first paragraphs, even a few second. But nothing seems to translate, to flow. My conscious mind tells me I should be very troubled by all this, but curiously, I’m not. Realizing that brought a fresh question to my mind – do I need turmoil to fuel my writing? I’m certainly cognizant of how much I’ve depended on writing as a means to find clarity in times of confusion. Indeed, most of my writing was fueled by mental flux. Emerson was right on the money when he said “Bad times have a scientific value. These are occasions a good learner would not miss.” But oddly, in learning to live through difficult times, I seem to have forgotten how to deal with placidity.

And perhaps, along the way, my writing has become dependent on mental flux as a source of inspiration – all indications certainly point to this being the case. The past six months or so have been a period of relative calm (I think) and I have had the hardest time writing anything at all – and this has bothered me immensely. The resultant unease drove me to reexamine myself and my recent past. Careful recollection tells me that these months have not really been entirely calm – no more so than substantial chunks of my past, anyway. So, what’s different now? The answer, it would seem, is me… more precisely where I stand with respect to the events that make up my life. It appears I have moved with respect to these events, suddenly finding myself closer to the eye of the storm… that little island of calm from whence I can observe the gusting winds. More importantly, with respect to my current predicament it would appear it is the perception of flux, rather than flux itself, that I’ve come to depend upon as writing fuel.

But why would any of this unnerve me so? The reason lies what I see as the value of writing: it has helped me to learn and to grow. And, without growth, there is only stagnation – the thing I fear most – for stagnation is decay and decay, death. So, it is that writer’s block felt every bit like an existential crisis – oddly, a quiet but persistent one – and therefore, I persisted in my efforts to write. As with every task, I set myself a seemingly easy goal: to write a page of something, anything at all. Weeks turned into months and the accursed page just wouldn’t fill up.

Jump across space and time to at cinema hall at a multiplex, the evening of last Wednesday. I’m watching, in 3D no less, Werner Herzog’s new documentary, Cave of Forgotten Dreams, about the Chauvet cave in France. The cave, apart from being a place of breathtaking natural splendor, is home to the oldest known cave paintings. And they were far indeed from simplistic stick figures that I expected. Even as I marveled at the beauty of the lions and horses painted on the walls, the thought crossed my mind that they had spent thousands of years hidden within the cave while history happened outside: the dark ages, the renaissance, two world wars… a whole lot of history.

And then, I got to thinking about that notion itself. It was a fairly interesting thought but it wasn’t much more than that. It was not the start of a chain of logic that led me somewhere more interesting. It wasn’t the only such thought I had during that movie either… there were several such isolated, amorphous thoughts. Each one interesting in its own right, within its specific context, interrelated even but not in any linear fashion. That’s when it hit me: I’ve had a lot of these amorphous thoughts over the last several months. But I don’t know what to do with them. Even the descriptors I can muster for these thoughts – amorphous, non-linear – only tell me what they are not. Therein lies the fundamental problem: I am limited by the linearity of my thought. In identifying this limitation, I have discovered my next challenge – to move beyond linearity. Perhaps, in time, I will make some headway in that direction and write about it on this blog. For now, I can only wonder how such a post would be structured.

Half a world away, I journey inward

2010-09-06T11:38:00.003-06:00

The need for such an approach arises from the subjective experience of objective reality that we know as the human condition. I began by granting the fact of my own existence. This allows me to work under the assumption that my identity, which I seek, exists, in some form and thereby, simplifies the problem manifold. In so doing, I have established the ‘fact’ of my existence as the frame of reference, the foundation upon which all other knowledge I possess is predicated.

The next step was to define that which I sought. Upon some consideration, I redefined my question as “Do I have an identity that extends beyond context, i.e. my past and present experiences and actions?” The simplest experiment I could think of was to try and observe myself in a radically different context. From a reductionist standpoint, there are two significant weaknesses in the experiment’s design: a) as both observer and subject, I’d be prone to bias and, b) being privy to my observations, I’d invariably be affected by them, i.e. the act of observation would alter the subject of study. However, these could be offset to a degree by recognizing and accounting for them, as far as possible.

Moving halfway across the globe to begin by graduate studies gave me the perfect opportunity to conduct such an experiment. It is important to acknowledge that the need for the physical separation from my past stemmed from my lack of mental discipline at the time. Over the last five years, I’ve been engaged in a continuous, iterative process of introspection and self-assessment. At each step, I became aware of the impact that the knowledge, thus gained, was having upon me. Observing my own evolution, I came to the realization that it should be possible for me to consciously guide the process, at least to a degree.

Over time, as I changed and grew more and more comfortable in my own skin, I noticed improving clarity in my self-observation. The act of observation was changing that which was being observed as well as the observer – after all, compartmentation of thought notwithstanding; they are both the same entity. Along the way, I’ve come to realize also that the process of seeking is continually revising my definition of that which I seek. Indeed, I’ve come to look upon ‘my identity’ very differently now.

For the longest time, I was troubled by the immense influence of my circumstances upon my identity. I desperately sought to discover for myself a context-independent identity; so that I could see myself more than the sum of my past experiences and actions. This is no longer a concern for me. I see now the flaw in my linear, reductionist approach to the problem. I find it more apt to describe myself as a complex adaptive system and my identity is an emergent behavior/property of the system (i.e., me). Therefore, while my identity is informed by my past, it is different from the sum of my past. The question of whether one is more or less does not arise, because the process of my evolution is non-linear, far from monotonic and not commutative.

My response to new experience is heavily influenced by my history and the different parts of my history do not always exert the same level of influence. Therefore, I no longer consider my identity in linear terms or even as a function of time even thought it is constantly evolving in time. While I recognize the infinite nature of one’s search for one’s identity, I no longer consider it a journey in simple space-time. Rather it is more akin to an evolutionary optimization problem, where one is constantly redefining the optimum criteria based on new input even as one tries to more towards it. This idea in turn leads me back to the concept of ‘wu wei’ – I mustn’t stagnate nor must I hurry. The key is to be conscious of all my experiences and actions which in and of itself is an ideal to strive for. And, to me this provides a rather satisfactory answer to what I’m doing with my existence – I’m learning – about myself and about the universe (well, the infinitesimal fragment of it that I interact with). It is both the means and the end, at least to me.

Wei Wu Wei - Action without action

2010-07-07T07:54:00.004-06:00

‘Wu wei’, which roughly translates to ‘spontaneous/natural action’, is a Taoist concept applicable to the martial arts. The idea is for the martial artist to neither act nor remain passive, for these are both unilateral; both are states of inertia. He remains free from inertia in his interaction with the universe – which is represented by the opponent – and restores balance with minimal expenditure of energy. He forces neither action nor inaction, he neither attacks nor defends, he is neither protagonist nor antagonist. He rises above and beyond being a party to any conflict, and simply prevails through them. The opponent’s force which disturbs balance/oneness is countered with a smaller force that complements, rather than opposes it.

To achieve ‘wu wei’, the martial artist must first look inward and quell the fluctuations within. He must achieve a state of calm hyper-awareness where he is keenly attuned to all his senses. In this state of mind, he is also able to rapidly process sensory information and make decisions. The key to speeding up the thought process is to adopt a non-linear approach that utilizes the pattern recognition and predictive functions of the neocortex. The subjective experience of such a mental state may be perceived as a slowing down of time and it is absolutely vital to ‘wu wei’. In short, he must be like still water, reflecting his opponent’s weaknesses and letting him defeat himself.

His attacks find his opponent’s vulnerabilities because they are simply a response to the existence of an opening. This is what Bruce Lee referred to when he talked about his ‘fist striking on its own’ and what Miyamoto Musashi called the ‘strike of non-thought’. Likewise, wu wei allows the martial artist to avoid and deflect his opponent’s attacks and frustrate him at every turn. Thereby, he is able to turn his opponent against himself in both mind and body and ultimately dissipate his very will to fight. At this level, the martial arts become, to use Bruce Lee’s words, a means of ‘honest self-expression’ and transcend from a fighting art to a path to self-realization.

However, honestly expression requires intense introspection and deep knowledge of the self. He must shed all that is unnecessary – reducing himself, body and mind, in the crucible of training to the solid core of his being. While he must constantly strive for improvement, he must do so without being at conflict with himself – in short, he must accept his nature and his humanity. He must be comfortable in the knowledge that the ideal will always remain beyond his grasp. Such realization will bring lasting peace. And, it is this inner calm, rather than aggression, that brings clarity of expression and the ability to prevail.

In achieving such growth, the martial artist surpasses action and reaction, attack and defense, indeed, all limitations. And he no longer limits himself to a style or even to action that is only physical. He applies himself as necessary to the situation at hand, be it through thought, word or deed. His goal is beyond even victory. In a way, he becomes the eternal, the intangible, his ‘self’ no longer a party to any conflict. The opponent is then reduced to a helpless hand swatting at thin air. Such is the method of ‘wei wu wei’.

A Question of Balance

2010-06-04T21:40:00.004-06:00

What follows is an attempt to crystallize some thoughts I’ve had with regard to my pursuit of gung fu. The words gung fu translate to ‘time and hard work’ and it is my understanding that the development of martial skill happens as much in the mind as in the body, if not more so. Developing skill demands not just constant training but constantly evolving training.

In martial arts, as in all things, one must strive constantly for balance. The first step in seeking balance is identifying the antagonistic elements that compose the equation. In doing this one is forced to examine oneself in the blinding light of honest introspection.

In order to be effective, training must hone one’s body and mind into an effective tool. One must train the body to maximize agility, speed, balance and efficiency of motion and the mind to develop sharper perception, thorough situational awareness and stillness of thought. The key is to balance the hard elements within gung fu forms with the soft, the external with the internal.

In a sense, one could think of the body as a tool to develop and transmit force, into the earth for movement or into the opponent. Hence, training must be balanced between developing form and fitness. In fitness training one must balance strength and power with speed and flexibility. While working on form one must balance the various elements: stability, balance, breathing, power, speed, fluidity. Even within the context of a single move, one must balance tension and relaxation just as one must balance following the traditional form with improvisation.

The true martial artist does not start fights but finishes them. While he must avoid being the instigator/aggressor, he must possess the fortitude to prevail should conflict be forced upon him. Even so, the martial artist must measure his response, balancing concern for his own well being with concern for his opponent’s well being. Where he must be gentle in dealing with an errant act of rowdiness, he must be able to act with unbridled violence when such action is called for.

Although the martial artist must possess the capacity for violence, it is vital that he use the right motivations to propel him in a conflict. Aggression, while untamed, must be free of anger and malice and should be expressed through one’s instincts and reasoning skills rather than as an emotional outburst. In this way, one remains in control of oneself and is best able to avoid unintended damage to all parties involved in the conflict as well as to bystanders.

A walk in the rain

2010-02-17T14:00:00.000-07:00

Weathered fingers clasped tightly around a flashlight, its faltering beam cutting a narrow swathe through inky blackness. Unrelenting rain drummed a hypnotic rhythm as it pattered on dense foliage, interrupted only by the squelch of wet grass under tired feet. The man kept a steady pace, a tattered poncho pulled tight over his head, following the narrow trail with practiced ease. He seemed in no particular hurry, however, even sodden as he was. Every few minutes, a frog croaked, seemingly always from a few paces off to his right. It seemed he only had the frog to share the night with, every other denizen of the jungle driven to its den by the rain. Rainwater streamed down his face in rivulets, blurring his vision, before disappearing into his long gray beard. But, the man neither stopped nor slowed. He walked, unwavering as the rain itself. Alone, within the immense darkness, he was more sharply conscious of his own existence than he had ever been. His reality was limited to the ground underfoot and the flashlight beam and the future extended no further than the next step. As thunderclaps counted off the passing hours, neither the rain stopped nor did he. It was a contest of will, a man against the elements themselves, and it concluded just as faint wisps of pre-dawn light crept up hesitantly onto the eastern skies. His pace steady, he walked on as night gave way to day and rain-clouds retreated, humbled and in defeat, to reveal clear blue skies. Coming up on a precipice, the man paused, gazing at the vast expanse of green that stretched out below. At the very edge, stood a figure, sodden and haggard, his shoulders slumped. As he turned around, the old man saw a bespectacled, curly haired youngster and figured he must have lost his way during the night. Just then, the sun peeked over the horizon, illuminating the faintest of smiles on both their faces. Feeling content, the man stirred. He had fallen asleep at his desk again. He smiled. He would write of a dream, of an old man, long since confined to a wheelchair, who dreamed every night of walking. In a log cabin across the jungle, another set of eyes fluttered open. The old man had fallen asleep in his wheelchair yet again.

Academia: Conflicting Perspectives

2010-02-16T17:25:00.004-07:00

This post is a crystallization of my thoughts after reading an article in The New Yorker about the problems facing the University of California. (http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2010/01/04/100104fa_fact_friend)

As a graduate student, I play the roles of both student and educator at different times. From time to time, I’m faced with a situation that elicits conflicting responses from these two parts of me. These are often issues pertaining to the responsibilities of students and educators towards each other and towards society at large. To further complicate my existence, there is my primary role as a researcher – about which I am the most passionate, by far. The researcher in me is ever eager to apply reductionist methodology to life, never willing to engage more than one problem at a time. This part of me is also eager to dismiss the aforementioned issues as being unrelated to the scientific question(s) at hand and therefore, inconsequential. However, these are issues are anything but inconsequential: issues that affect students and/or faculty at academic institutions have far-reaching effects on research conducted within the system of academia. So, the question boils down to, “Which voice do I listen to? Do I think of myself as a student, an educator or a researcher? Or perhaps, there is a way to reconcile these disparate voices?”

I’ve tried different approaches in the past. I’ve tried to be purely a student of my discipline, which happens to be science – a virtual non-member of the student body, completely oblivious to the mundane, everyday realities. In a sense, this is very much along the lines of being a scientist focused solely on research, unmindful even to the business of conducting that very research. At other times, I’ve tried to be a more active and vociferous member of the student body, whether by involving myself in student politics or by simply sticking to principles and vocal about my ideas and opinions as an individual. The consequences have ranged from minor victories to boredom and disgust over time/effort wasted over trivial details to being subject to the wrath of those in authority. The end result has been disillusionment which has left me with little faith in student political bodies. However, given the successes student movements have achieved in the past and my inability to conceive of viable alternatives, I have little choice but to function within the so-called “system” and seek change from within. While that would seem like a viable solution, it does not address what, for me, is the greater question: “How do I keep apathy at bay when it is so easy wrap myself in a warm blanket of scientific problems and ignore the world outside the lab?”

If and, hopefully, when I have an answer to that question, it will be the subject of a new post on this blog.

An evening at the movies

2009-11-23T21:57:00.008-07:00

Disclaimer: I describe here an evening from the recent past as a weak attempt at telling a story.

It’s dark. Long, languorous notes of “Shine on you crazy diamond” fill the room. I stir from my blissful state of inertia and take a look out the window. It’s cloudy and judging from the cool blow glow the mountains are bathed in, the sun must be pretty low in the sky. What time does that make it? Hmm, well what month of the year is this? November, yes, there’s a dusting of snow on the hillside. I suddenly feel the need for some crisp evening air and a movie. What’s playing? The Coen brothers have new movie out, “A Serious Man”. A comedy, perfect!

A change of attire, shoes, jacket and I’m sauntering down to the train stop, day-old snow crunching underfoot, Lisa Ekdahl singing to me. I look up and the moon is a crimson wisp in the western sky hanging over the brightly lit city with a quiet air of dignity. I wonder why I think the moon looks dignified. Grateful Dead’ “Friend of the devil” and few hundred more yards and I’m on the train. I peer out the window – the city looks sleepy. Maybe it’s me, maybe I’m sleepy. I see leafless trees reach up in to the sky like so many dried up, gnarly hands pleading for escape from the tired, gaudy neon lights, Jethro Tull’s “Bungle in the Jungle” plays in the background.

Head leaning against the window, I see the familiar geometric shapes of the city library come into view superimposed on a reflection of the railcar’s interior. It’s my stop, and it’s Calexico’s “Sunken Waltz”. A few dried yellow leaves peek through the snow, catching the multicolored lights of storefront signs, as I walk along familiar streets. Then I see the marquee, it’s the Broadway Cinema. Within seconds, I’m walking up to the concession stand, ticket in hand. The nice, familiar lady, whose name I don’t know, tells me of the movies she’s been watching lately as makes my usual cup of Earl Grey.

Tea in hand, I settle into my seat in the nearly empty cinema hall and pull out my headphones, all with a practiced ease that comes from repetition. Once again, it's practically a private screening. As I take a tentative first sip, the screen comes to life with the first of the trailers. I knew then, with absolute certainty, it was going to be another wonderful evening.

Why I walk

2009-09-26T12:03:00.007-06:00

I spent most of my teen years ignoring my father's complaints about my lack of, what he called, discipline. I was convinced (like every other teenager. perhaps) that he didn't know what he was talking about. Having lived on my own terms for the last four years, I've had every opportunity to make of myself what I will. I realized some time ago that I'd ended up cultivating some of the very habits he tried to insist on. In other areas, I've continued to go in a direction diametrically opposed to the one he pointed towards. Needless to say, this was rather intriguing, if not puzzling. So, I embarked on an attempt to take stock of what I've done with my life over the last four years and to understand better some of the things I've done.

Let me begin with a confession.

Four years ago, I was rather lost, unsure where my life was going. I knew on a deep level that I was passionate about science and that I should give research a serious try before making any decisions - but it was nothing more than a blind charge really. I felt like I'd not accomplished anything worthwhile and that in turn, led me to question who I was. I had a lot of questions and no way to really answer any of them. And, I constantly felt under pressure... to succeed, to live up to expectations. I've always been one to deal with my issues on my own - so, I pretended to be cocky, even arrogant, just to hide my fear and vulnerability. I knew even then that sooner or later facts would have to be faced, questions answered. I told myself that graduate school would be the time for that... I would use the opportunity and the freedom of being away from everyone and everything I knew to find myself.

The approach I came up with for this journey of self-discovery is one that I have previously described in some detail (see Empirical existentialism). I took up a back to basics approach:

I would deconstruct myself down as close as possible to the very core of my being and then build myself back up.
In order for my quest to be fruitful, I would have to pare myself down in both body and mind, eliminating as much of the undesirable and the non-essential as possible.
Such a process is, by definition, infinite. More importantly, there would be a learning curve to even making a real start. I expected this to span between a few months and a few years. For this reason, I would not check my progress for at least the first year or two.
Finding oneself entails locating and exceeding one's limits - mentally and physically. I find these to be best accomplished in solitude. I decided for that reason to skip explaining my actions to people. If bonds were strained, if bridges were burned... I would ascertain on a case-by-case basis what losses were acceptable.
The implementation of this decision would require that I learn to dispassionately consider how people regarded me and my actions - in some cases people I had valued/continue to value significantly. And, often I would be required to not react to these opinions.
Lastly, but perhaps most important of all, I could not permit myself any laxity in assessing myself. I would be my own harshest judge and critic.

As with most journeys into the unknown, it was extremely slow going in the beginning. It was especially hard letting go of old ties and habits. But, over time, I've noticed the going get easier... the pace picking up.

On a physical level, I decided to go about achieving health and strength through effective management of food, sleep and exercise. I regularized my eating habits to eat three meals daily and the effect was a reduced but more consistent appetite than before. I also decided to indulge my liking for good food - particularly coffee, chocolate, vegetables and fruits while consciously avoiding soda and junk food. Pretty soon, I didn't crave the latter any more because I'd realized how bad they tasted - who'd want to drink a quart of coke when one can enjoy a nice single malt or a glass of fresh fruit juice? I took up kung fu, racquetball and hiking - activities I enjoy immensely which just happen to also provide exercise. Along the way, I had to deal with a pesky herniated disc in my lower spine... a painful experience both physically and financially but one I learned much from nonetheless. The resolution of that problem was neither instantaneous nor complete... to compensate for this, I began a daily stretching and calisthenics regimen. The net physical result is that I've gotten lighter (from 225 lbs to 166 lbs), faster, stronger and healthier... I finally feel like I'm getting into the physical condition necessary to live the life I want.

After much introspection and retrospection, I realized I needed to reevaluate the way I related to other people and to find avenues to channel my creative energies. With respect to the former, I set about playing reductionist, severing all non-essential and/or counter-beneficial ties from my past. Along the way, I started making new ties, picking up some very good friends in the process. As for the latter, I tried my hand at several hobbies including writing, sketching, hiking, photography, reef-keeping and kung fu. I gave up on sketching because it didn't feel like a natural way in which to express myself and I've indefinitely shelved reef-keeping purely because of financial and time constraints. Other than that, I've managed to stick with the other hobbies. In trying to keep up with the physical demands of kung fu, racquetball and hiking, I've had to push myself to the limits of my physical/mental endurance and beyond... and every step I've taken past what I thought were my limits has shown me something of myself I did not previously know existed. Passions of mine I'm glad to have indulged are reading, especially comic books and graphic novels, music and movies. The resulting changes are even more dramatic than my physical transformation - I've never been as happy, confident or at peace as I am now. I've also managed to largely rein in my previously wild temper. But most importantly, I've stopped feeling like an outsider all the time. While I may never be one to immerse myself in the thick of things as far as society is concerned, I've certainly grown more comfortable in this world of man that I inhabit. I've grown comfortable with the notion of being a member of the human species and that's saying a lot. All that being said, I've still got a ways to go... so, I'd better get on with it.

Heaven on Earth... Hell and Purgatory as well

2009-09-04T09:33:00.006-06:00

Heaven is perhaps the ideal existence we spend our lives trying to define and to seek - one characterized by peace, satisfaction, joy, equilibrium etc. While this may sound like a simple definition, the truth is one could spend several lifetimes searching for the meaning of any one of those words. This definition of heaven allows us to look at purgatory as a positive feedback loop of self-deception - where one convinces oneself, falsely, that one has discovered the path to the ideal, to heaven or worse still that one has reached that destination. What often follows such a phase is the descent into hell - a crushing realization of reality and a tidal wave of self loathing that follows in its wake. Painful, yes. Inescapable, not at all.

Just a thought...

Monkey in the mirror

2009-08-26T09:53:00.012-06:00

I feel like two people this morning - this is a feeling I've become intimately familiar with and I dare say, hate with a fervent passion. Most of the time (now), I'm fine with who/how I am - curious, spontaneous and in love with life. But I sometimes see in the mirror a monkey I've been trying to shake off my back for years... bitter, angry, self-loathing and full of vitriol. So many times, I've felt like a spectator as I watched myself explode with uncontrolled, directionless rage.

I've tried time and again to resolve these issues by simply running away from my past - in the hope that getting away from places and forgetting the years spent in those places would somehow eliminate the parts of me that those places created. This approach brought limited measures of success but often at a high price: memories reduced to a mere record of events, if not buried under layers of fear and denial - so much of my childhood (and it was a good one too in so many ways) wiped away by my own hand, good people put through the grinder for counting me a friend - so much to regret, so much to be ashamed of. And scant progress to show for it all. Through all that, I felt adrift, listless - never once feeling like I belonged.

All that changed once I started on my research - I finally had an avenue to channel my greatest passion - science - and it felt like I finally had a reason to breathe. I realized then that the things I was trying to run away from were deep within me - my own anger and hate. Graduate school brought with it solitude and half a world of physical separation from my past. It was ironic that it was as a stranger in a strange new land that I felt most at home in years. Living alone afforded me time for introspection. As I delved deeper into my own nature in private, I taught myself to present the world with an unerringly balanced facade for the purpose of going on with my life (as best possible) in the meanwhile.

For a while I fell into the trap of lulling myself by falling for the very charade I presented to the world. But I was able to cut through that veil eventually and the result has been my latest and I want to believe, most fruitful attempt at discovering myself. I've come a ways in terms of making peace with the scary parts of myself and the unpleasant parts of my past - but I still have miles to go. And there has always been the temptation of taking the easy way out - severing all permanent ties and seeking comfort in isolation. But all I need do is think of the people who've seen my worst face and still stuck by me - all thoughts of isolation are banished. In their place is a renewed determination to make it the rest of the way. So, I shall keep my head down and carry on. Giving up is not an option.

In a moment, a lifetime

2009-07-23T20:01:00.006-06:00

Why do we so seldom acknowledge them? I speak of those anonymous, fleeting moments of uncommon intensity and clarity that we experience from time to time? Such a moment is at times the lifespan of emotions so deep, not even memory can recreate them. Other times, such a moment marks the birth of an idea – the moment the light-bulb flicks on, so to speak. In many ways, such moments are the very substance of life. And yet, simply because they flash by so quickly and exist only within the labyrinths of a human consciousness, we fail to acknowledge them, leave alone treasure them. It has been my experience that learning to recognize these moments brings a sense of equilibrium and fulfillment that one could spend a lifetime seeking. Perhaps it is because of our innate need to share experiences with one another – by definition it is next to impossible to condense into words an experience so short-lived that the mind has trouble even recognizing it. Perhaps it is for this reason that such moments, profound as they may be, are relegated to oblivion within the dusty dark recesses of our minds whence they came. And perhaps, they are best left anonymous, lest they be somehow diminished by the process of being recorded.

The Laws of Macnife

2009-05-26T09:42:00.014-06:00

The following laws are essential reading for anyone seeking the most efficient way to earn the title of 21st Century Misanthrope as well as those who simple wish to amuse themselves.

1. These laws do not always apply.
2. Question everything, especially this law.
4. Appreciate simplicity and absurdity.
5. Everything is absolutely ambiguous.
6. Let's not bother with this one.
7. Always base inferences upon data.
11. The data is the data. Everything else is open to debate.
32. Ruminate upon pointless ramblings of mine and ye shall grow wise.
27. Analysis is the bridge between perception and cognition. Explore within as much as without.
32. Do you know what else happened on the road while you were busy watching the chicken cross it? Perhaps the chicken lead you on a wild goose chase.
45.3 Mostly one seeks equilibrium or a steady state. But from time to time one must plunge oneself into a state of flux.
XI. Never feed an onion to a homeless tabby cat on the third Tuesday of March.
12. Sagacity is restraint in sharing one's perspicacity.
13. Fuck political correctness!
28. All laws but this one are made to be rewritten.

Empirical Existentialism

2009-04-05T14:37:00.004-06:00

Disclaimer: The use of the word existentialism is not meant to draw parallels between my ideas and those of the many eminent / supremely mindfucked thinkers to whose philosophy, the moniker has previously been applied. If anything, the idea behind empirical existentialism is to develop a wholly personalized and purely experience-driven approach to philosophy and to life itself.

This is an attempt on my part to arrive at a systematic yet personalized approach to the development of an ever evolving set of heuristic approximations to aid in decision making, or in less exact terms, a way of life. The basic premise of this approach is to treat my experience of existence, i.e., my life, as emergent behavior arising from the interaction between two complex adaptive systems, namely my consciousness and the universe. Having decided on the overall approach, the next step was to evolve basic frameworks using with to regard my consciousness as well as the universe as I experience it.

I view the processes of my consciousness as taking two basic forms, perception and cognition. At first glance, this list appeared to be missing physical actions. However, upon further reflection, I came to view physical actions as a tool one may employ in the pursuit of perceptive and/or cognitive experiences. Next it appeared that emotion is another element which belongs in the above characterization of my consciousness. However, I have come think of emotion as higher order cognitive behavior, i.e. part of the response of my consciousness to interactions between itself and the universe.

The next step is to develop a basic framework using which to regard the universe as I experience it. The way I’ve come to think of it is as the context in which my consciousness operates. The nature of my consciousness affords me varying degrees of control over some aspects of this context. At least in my case, it is a given that human society is a vital part of my context. However, I have also noticed wide inter-individual variability, not to mention temporal variability, in the form and degree of the individual’s need for social interactions. Therefore, I feel it would be a good starting point to determine the sufficiency conditions that must be met in order for my need for social interactions to be fulfilled.

I thought it best to take an experimental approach and determine by trial and error the minimum, sufficient context to satisfactorily house my consciousness. However, these experiments deviate from the scientific ideal in three ways: I, the experimenter, have only partial control over experimental conditions; I am not afforded an independent point of observation on account of being the principal subject of my experiments; the interventions, conditions and outcomes are not quantifiable in the form of well defined parameters. Therefore, the approach I have devised can best be described as pseudo-reductionist. Further, it is important to note that this is by default an infinite, iterative process and will constantly yield parts of a solution that is far from time-invariant. In spite of these significant limitations, the utility of the process lies in enabling me to identify non-essential and more importantly, unfavorable interactions and thereby, enhance the efficiency of the process of living.

Based on systematic, iterative changes and observations made over the last two years or so, I can say with a fair degree of confidence that I have achieved rather satisfying and apparently sustainable steady state that has demonstrated little susceptibility to external perturbations.

P.S. Importantly, this is accomplished without the use of what I would call “cognitive over-damping” – suppression and concealment of unresolved thoughts/emotions – having engaged in it rather recklessly and to my considerable detriment in the past, I feel confident in my ability to identify it.

Dead Man Talking

2009-04-05T14:23:00.003-06:00

Disclaimer: If you are incapable of laughing at jokes about death, feel free to read on but DO NOT bother me with stupid questions.

Why is there an almost pathological insistence in so many cultures on the value of deathbed confessions? Even the law treats dying declarations with much deference, the whole system wanting to believe in the notion of the unquestionable veracity of the ‘dying declaration’. Why? Is it really that far-fetched to believe that a man/woman would lie with their last breath? As a member of the species, let me just say, our record speaks for itself when the question comes up as to how low we can stoop. Besides, if you are a believer in the idea that all dying men are in search of redemption and therefore, compelled by their conscience to speak nothing but the truth, clearly, you have not run into ME. (Also, you probably do not know what a sense of humor is, do you?) I would gladly summon my last breaths to toss out a couple of plausible-sounding fibs. (All this, in my own time… To any nutfuck reading this, let me make it clear: this is not some kind of cry for help asking you to help me along. You may choose to disregard this advice at your own peril.) Imagine some soul(s) earnestly investing hard work into some venture based upon my final utterances. Just the hilarity of it – priceless! Being a nice sort of devious bastard, I feel it would only be fair to give humanity fair warning of the sort of grand pranks my mind is capable of churning out. If you still fall for it, it would be that much funnier.

So, in the interest of the gentlemanly spirit of the grand game of “Gotcha!”, here’s my fair warning to you. I shall detail here and now, some of the ideas floating around in my head. Importantly there are more than the sort of things I may choose to do; I encourage anyone reading this to utilize/modify them.

1. Le fake confession: If you know you’re about to breathe your last, confess to someone you know well, who trusts you (the combination of those traits may be quite rare) that you’ve long burdened yourself with a terrible secret and no longer wish to be so burdened. What follows could be anything from a simple “I know who killed Kennedy… it was…” to an absolutely explosive “I am your father, Luke.” You are limited only by your imagination (and your choice of confessor).

2. The last words: Let them be something absolutely spellbindingly absurd. Charles Foster Kane’s “rosebud” was pretty good. Search your lexicon and come up with a good one like say, “the towering cannoli”, “lemurs” or “magnificent acreage”.

3. The suicide note(s): Can you imagine the wonderful confusion you’d cause by leaving behind a suicide note or better yet several and then dying of natural causes? Were you planning on committing suicide? Were you unhappy? Was it their fault? People would be stumped. In fact, I’m a fan of the multiple suicide note idea, a couple of serious sounding ones mixed in with a few absolutely outrageous ones. Make the serious ones real good so that people can’t easily dismiss the rest as a product of senility and delirium. Remember, the rest are a place to have some serious fun. Here are some of the things you could do.

a. The absurd reason: Say something like “I must end my life… I must do it for the bear cubs and rusty bridges.”

b. The accusation: Accuse some people you know, some you don’t (the Pope?) and others who don’t even exist of being responsible for your decision to end it all. Better yet, say “The following 5 are responsible…” and list 8 names.

c. Gibberish, in verse: This will have them running in circles for a good bit. Write some utter nonsense, but make sure it rhymes. You’re golden!

d. The crazy wishes: Make outlandish requests of some of the people you know – like “Jeremy, I want you to shave the word GLOVE into your hair.” An added twist would be if Jeremy were totally bald.

e. The conspiracy theory: “Disregard all you’ve been told and uncover the true nature of my demise.”, pretty much.

f. The warning: “Beware of the blind pastry chef and his army of scissors!”

4. The will: This is easily one of the best ways to screw with people. Right off the bat, one can see a number of ways in which to do this:

- Leave to people things that aren’t yours.

- Leave to people things that don’t exist.

- Leave something to a total, random stranger, say picked from the phonebook.

- Leave things to people you know, but throw in some crazy conditions. For example, ‘X can have my comic book collection if X dresses up in a Godzilla costume to a busy market in their hometown and walks around for 47 minutes or longer screaming “Hayaku! The wolfman cometh!” before stripping down to their skivvies and running home.’

- Have people invited to the reading of the will with the promise of inheritance and have the executor of the will read a letter to them berating them harshly before handing them a bag containing some candy and loose change.

Here shall this post end, rather abruptly.

Spontaneity as a deliberate choice

2009-03-16T21:29:00.007-06:00

It's been five weeks, since I last sat at this keyboard (well, with the intention of letting loose, that is). Feels like an eternity has gone by, feels like it was only a moment ago... my perception of time seems to become more and more fluid with every passing day. Lately, I've been trying to dig up old struggles, so that I may find new strength - both mental and physical.

It all started abruptly enough and without fanfare, when I was roused from sleep by a spasm in my left calf - that was in December. It may have been an epiphany; but, I'm reluctant to call it that. Maybe, because the realization I came to was something I always knew; it'd been an elephant inside my head all along. It was a moment / minute / eternity (I'm not sure which) of white-hot pain, of lucid thought, of transcendental perception - there is far more choice in life that I'd like to admit to myself. Sometimes, to see a choice(s), one must look outside the illusory structure one has established for one's existence - the so-called comfort zone. The reason I was trying to shy away from this truth? Inertia, lethargy.

In that moment, I chose to do something, everything in my power really, about it. The only way to come to terms with the chaos without is to embrace the chaos within. How is this any different from my past quests? It's not and yet, it is. Let me explain. Words and conscious thoughts notwithstanding, I've always subconsciously tried to overcome the chaos of reality; I've always recognized this and tried time and again with varying degrees of success to overcome the habit - it was never enough though. There were still too many bindings, too much junk I clung to. So, why do I feel any differently about this time? Because, I think I've hit upon a wonderful piece of common sense. I'm walking one step at a time towards the unknown this time rather than trying to run headlong into it. I decided to take a more systematic approach towards achieving chaos, if you will. On the face of it, this is a paradoxical statement. But, I think, only on the face of it.

In the past, I've always tried to jump into the water and then worry about swimming. (I recognize fully well the irony of one unable to swim employing this metaphor.) And, the result was always the same, I made rapid headway initially before hitting a massive brick wall, as it were, and drowning in a whirlpool of panic. Next thing I knew, I'd be clinging to the rope harder than ever before, having only made it a mere step or two further from before.

It's the same damn thing that happened every time I tried to overcome my vertigo. My solution to that was simple enough... I'd walk towards the edge of a cliff right up to the point where my heart began to tickle my tonsils (which I no longer have by the way); then, sit down and breathe, deliberately. Soon, I'd be too bored to feel any panic and I could get up and walk another step or two closer to the edge. Eventually I was sitting at the edge, my feet dangling over a 2000 foot drop and what a view it was!

As I lay in bed that night screaming inward in pain, it hit me that I should simple apply the same principle to life at large. Walk, calmly and deliberately, away from the rope. Stop and take a few deep breaths whenever necessary. After all, to rush the process of embracing uncertainty would defeat the whole purpose wouldn't it?

Another question I'd struggle to reconcile before was that of plans and schedules. Making plans and working on a schedule are necessities dictated by the nature of what I do (research) and what I do, is indulge my passion(s). How could I continue to do this and still embrace uncertainty? The answer was simple enough. It is everywhere in nature. Even a truly random pattern is a pattern still. And such a pattern often contains within it regions of regularity - look anywhere you want: lines in the beach sand, ventricular fibrillation... And thus, to be truly free of rigidity, I must be willing to be fluid... if maintaining that fluidity over a prolonged region of space-time-consciousness (I find it very useful to think of these as the dimensions of a continuum within which to describe my existence to myself) requires the use of structure within smaller regions of it, then that's just the way to flow. In other words, true disorder does not fear order; rather, it is simply a more complex order. Again, this is a concept I've encountered several times in a variety of different contexts; but, to see it within my own existence, that was a sweet moment of realization indeed. What I speak of is not pride; rather, it's that feeling you get when you look up to see the evening sun paint the sky.

That's about it for now. So, why did I ramble on and on about something I know can not be captured by words? The process of trying helps me crystallize my notion of fluidity - another step in a lifelong process. The way I see it, if I keep this up, at the very least I won't ever be bored. How much more could I ask for? :D

I for one and one for all!

2009-02-08T20:40:00.007-07:00

Seems like it ways only yesterday – Rupert Murdoch stole the U.S. presidential election (it’s apparently something like King Ottokar’s sceptre in that any jackass who holds has to be allowed to rule) from Al Gore (he does owe Murdoch for clearing up his schedule; imagine trying to juggle a film making career with a presidency) and gifted it to this goofy, C-average candidate from Texas, whom nobody thought could win. Eight years have gone by in a flash… leaving us with snapshots – the economy vaporized along with much of Afghanistan, Iraq and New Orleans. A small price to pay, I’m sure all would agree, for all the brilliant quotes good ole’ ‘Dubya’ has left us with.

There are many naysayers who refuse to laugh at Dubya’s cosmic joke of a presidency. To them I say, in the words of the master himself, in history, we will all be dead anyway. So, laugh and be merry. I do, I dare say, justly jest.

And for fuck’s sake stop ‘misunderestimating’ the guy! You made him feel inadequate and got two wars in return. Instead try to put food on your family and ask yourself, "Is our children reading?"

Judge him not, for he is a man who wishes coexist peacefully with the fishes. Thanks to Al Gore's invention, global warming (Or was it the 'internets' that he invented? Guy's kept so fucking busy, it's hard to keep track.), he may soon have his chance - particularly if he moves to Vanuatu. (I had a brilliantly gratuitous Godfather reference involving Luca Brasi that would have fit here, but I felt bad about putting Brasi in the same sentence with Bush - that would be an insult to Brasi's intelligence. Fuck! I just did what I was trying not to do, didn't I? Digression over.)

If indeed global warming is going to drown us all, we will at least come to appreciate that water-boarding isn't really torture. I shouldn't be too hard on poor ole' Dubya though. After all, he is, by his own admission, a West Texas girl, just like Senator Bill Frist’s wife.

Besides, before you scare yourself shitless over the economy, ask yourself if you want to be hunted down like Saddam Hussein? Just remember, Dubya stepped into the ring against Hussein because of his history but more importantly because of his willingness to terrorize himself. So, if you terrorize yourself over trifles like the loss of your job, your house, your life's savings or any combination thereof, you may land yourself on the wrong side of the war on terror. And, as Dubya himself has reminded us more than once, 'war is a dangerous place'. And we don't need to be subliminable about it either.

So what if you're poor now? Poor people aren't necessarily killers. Just because you happen to be not rich doesn't mean you're willing to kill. So what if you’ve lost all your savings? Stop being so self-centered and think of all the poor OB-GYNs across the country who can no longer practice their love with women.

What's to cry about anyway? Are you not entertained? (I ask that in a voice dripping with sarcasm, à la Maximus Decimus Meridius.) Doesn't Dubya remind you of Russell Crowe? Such magnificient entertainers they both are, exponents of the same fine art - which art that is, I will leave to your imagination. (That's because I can come up with fuckall that Russel Crowe is good at.) What other president in history has do so much to keep his people entertained during times of crisis (that he precipitated himself) as Dubya has - with his boundless oratorical skills? The other interesting thing about Dubya is that I watched a movie about him last year. Isn't that interesting?

In the end, all I'm saying is I'll be long gone before some smart person ever figures out what happened inside that Oval Office. We may yet discover some day what a visionary statesman he was. At least, mathematics says there is a non-zero probability of such an thing happening. (Mathematics, how cruel thy hand!) So, in the meanwhile I would just like to thank Dubya on behalf of all of us for all the Bushisms.

And never forget that reading is the basics for all learning. So, keep reading my blog, whether I write on it or not.

P.S. For those of you just returning from Mars I've colored all the Bushisms quoted/paraphrased above in dark blue. For more of the real deal, take a look at this article.

The not-so-timeless romance of despair

2008-12-24T16:35:00.004-07:00

I watched a movie this afternoon titled Chinese Coffee, the story of one damaged man seeking help and counsel from his equally damaged friend. It got me thinking, made me open a dusty old box hidden away in one of the many dark corners of my mind and what follows is the result of the analysis that followed.

Despair is timeless, as is the romance of despair. Or are they? Within the context of an individual's existence, despair can indeed be truly lasting. It feeds on itself and on anything and everything, in some ways like that tiny mountain stream that feeds on other streams as it grows into the mighty, unstoppable river, its flow seemingly inexorable, all-consuming. And much like the stream, the despair of one individual has the capacity to consume other around him. Unless and until this unstoppable force meets an immovable object - the will of an individual - despair will drag a man down to depths of oblivion with chilling certainty.

But unlike despair itself, the romance of it is far from everlasting. Over time, the desperate man comes to a fork in the road, though seldom his mind sees it; and, he makes a choice - he either resolves to fight his despair with every fiber of his being or he allows it to consume him until all that is left is venom, that unique flavor of venom which one can only find within a man who has admitted defeat.

In truth, peace is success (the converse is far from true) - and to attain it one must overcome the inertia within, both intellectual and physical. Often the mind balks at the scale of this challenge and one sees despair as something romantic. Thus is born the image of the romantic pauper, living in the dark, grimy shadow of human society and yet somehow beyond it, above it - somehow, noble. This illusion, shallow as it is, is powerful... it drives one to wallow in a living purgatory until the inertia builds up to a level where one can only choose between a cathartic battle to overcome and a spirit-crushing admission of defeat. And only when a man sees the darkness of despair does he realize that the romance it once seemed to hold, it never did - it was nothing more than a reflection of the jaundice in his eyes, an expression of his lack of will.

So, I ask myself, where do I stand? Did I make the right choice when I came to that fateful fork in the road? Or, have I yet to reach it? Do I still wallow in despair? Do you?

Ramblings: A Letter from a brain wrapped in mists

2008-11-23T14:20:00.006-07:00

Been a while hasn't it? It's been an interesting few months. The nameless inertia that seemed to dull my days has been shed, or, at least, so it would appear. I've been reading lately and thinking... reading and thinking... thinking and reading. My thoughts are still very much a blur, so much so that I've been having trouble sleeping on account of my mind refusing to pause. So, here I am, letting my wheels spin free in that hope that something with a degree of form may come of it ultimately.

"To attack vices in the abstract, without touching persons may be safe fighting, indeed, but it is fighting with shadows. My greatest comfort and encouragement to proceed has been to see that those who have no shame, and no fear of anything else, have appeared touched by my satires." - Junius

If at all you know me, even a little, you will take offense over my words . For it is out of respect that I try to speak with honesty.

"Rather than love, than money, than fame, give me truth." - Henry David Thoreau

The question is becoming clearer with each passing day of turmoil.

"Nature loves symmetry." - Louis de Broglie

The photon is at once both wave and particle as is matter. Does it therefore follow that man - as he relates to that within and that without - is dual-natured as well? Or does realization of the self demand reconciliation between the two?

"Not until we are lost do we begin to understand ourselves." - Henry David Thoreau

Am I lost? If so, when? Is it when I wander, often aimlessly, within the corridors of my own mind? Or is it when I walk, seemingly with purpose, the streets out in the wilderness of human society?

"A man is rich in proportion to the number of things he can afford to let alone." - Henry David Thoreau

The aim is to distill the process of living until I arrive at the truth of my nature. The first step is to paint, in my mind, a clear vision of the ideal. (Needless to say, this process will be lifelong and iterative.)

"Whoso would be a man, must be a nonconformist. He who would gather immortal palms must not be hindered by the name of goodness. Nothing is at last sacred but the integrity of your own mind. Absolve you to yourself and you shall have the sufferage of the world." - Ralph Waldo Emerson

I must possess the conviction to heed mine own voice and the stillness of mind to speak clearly to myself.

“Disobedience is the true foundation of liberty. The obedient must be slaves.” - Henry David Thoreau

Indeed, I must be prepared for any test of my courage and resolve.

"It is easy in the world to live after the world's opinion; it is easy in solitude after own own; but the great man is he who in the midst of the crowd keeps with perfect sweetness the independence of solitude." - Ralph Waldo Emerson

But, above all, I must seek balance.

"To be great is to be misunderstood." - Ralph Waldo Emerson

Importantly, the converse if often untrue. Many who are misunderstood and presume themselves great, do so falsely.

A truly good book teaches me better than to read it. I must soon lay it down, and commence living on its hint. What I began by reading, I must finish by acting." - Henry David Thoreau

I am off then, to do, to live.

Virtue of a bygone era

2008-08-19T10:17:00.007-06:00

I read these post titled 'India doesn't need Olympic pride' and 'Do you think Kashmir is an integral part of India' on India Uncut. The writer articulates the very thoughts that rant and rave about every day and for giving me a voice, I thank him. National pride, if I may be so bold, is a virtue of a bygone era. Tribal and provincial allegiances were once subordinated to national unity and nation states were born. It's time we take the next step and recognize ourselves as individuals whose collective identity derives from the species we all belong to. The nations our forbears forged have evolved from being unifying forces bringing together clans and tribes to being divisive labels keeping neighbors at each others' throats. Take India and Pakistan, for instance - why are we still busy antagonizing each other? It's about time we started identifying ourselves as human beings and it's about time we started acting accordingly. The importance of pride derived from a national identity and the resultant umbrage taken without reason are beyond petty in the face of the very real problems like starvation and strife we face. Is it too much to ask that we forget window dressing and turn our attention to the real issues at hand?

To my inner cynic and yours: Like I've said before, what could be more human than hope?

PS. I'm not deluded enough to think that all the world's problems or even any one of them can be completely resolved. After all what stands in the way is human nature. But I do think that an things can be made better for an individual or a group of individuals. Where's the fun in life if we don't fight for small victories in the name of a lost cause?

PPS. I owe thanks to Partha for pointing me to the posts on India Uncut.

Of clown masks and suicide

2008-08-10T21:55:00.003-06:00

I watched two documentaries - Encounters at the End of the World (Werner Herzog's meditation on Antarctica and the eclectic group of people who gravitate towards it's desolate magnificence) and Gonzo: The Life and Work of Dr. Hunter S. Thompson - and I read some more Batman comics. And then I did this thing that I have a habit of doing from time to time - I thought. What follows is a brief account of some of what came out of the depths of my considerably dark mind. Do enjoy.

Hunter S. Thompson lived an eventful life to say the least. But who was he? To me he was Cicero reborn as an angry jester - the 60's version of Akira Kurosawa's Kyoami from Ran. As Gonzo, he had the courage of conviction to give voice to the angst that most of us feel but try to ignore and a way with words that forced the meek and the strong alike to stop and take notice. He shocked the timid among us and rattled the cages of the powerful. But such power exacts a heavy price - Gonzo was a clown face that Hunter Thompson could never take off. Just as Bruce Wayne was reduced to little more than a mask that Batman wears during the day, Hunter Thompson, the man, was little more than a vessel for Gonzo. And like Batman, Gonzo is a being with an unquenchable fire of anger burning within his heart - to sustain such a fire means fueling it with one's very life force. And there's only so much wood in the pile. (This is where Bruce Wayne has the advantage of being fictional.) Such men burn bright, a shining beacon, but they burn through life quicker than most - in the end, one must either retire the firebrand alter-ego or face annihilation. Unable to give up being Gonzo perhaps, but without the energy reserves to sustain him much longer, Hunter Thompson took his own life, leaving a note that read, "No More Games. No More Bombs. No More Walking. No More Fun. No More Swimming. 67. That is 17 years past 50. 17 more than I needed or wanted. Boring. I am always bitchy. No Fun — for anybody. 67. You are getting Greedy. Act your old age. Relax — This won't hurt."

When it happened, Thompson's suicide came as no surprise to those who knew him for he had always foretold his end by his own hand, viewing it as a way of dealing with death on his own terms. And that leads me to my next question. Why would any man look upon suicide with such romance? Well, let me begin with a brief segway. Interviewing a reclusive/taciturn penguin researcher in "Encounters ...", Herzog asks, "Do penguins ever go insane? Do they ever commit suicide?" The footage that follows is of a lone penguin breaking away from his colony and walking towards the interior of the continent, towards certain death. There is undeniable power in the image of the lone penguin awkwardly waddling into the vast, desolate expanse of the Antarctic. But why? Well, why do we celebrate tragedy in song, in verse and in prose? The magnetism and romance of sorrow are undeniable. Perhaps it is an expression of the sub-conscious mind reveling in the 'human condition'. Nonetheless, it is this attitude taken to an extreme that leads some of us to see romance in suicide. While I myself no longer hold such a view, I can understand it to a degree.

A lot of us are lazy - physically, intellectually, morally... in more ways than there are words to describe. Observeing the challenges that life throws at some of us, through a veil of laziness, one is often left in doubt of one's ability to cope with adversity. Suicide begins to look more and more like a convenient emergency exit. Add to the mix ideas like reincarnation and the finite nature of our existence is no longer a significant issue. And in an attempt to rationalize a lack of moral fortitude, one begins to paint a rosy picture of suicide as an honorable way out. This could easily happen to a man who's lived long enough, burning his candle at both ends. Rather than sacrifice his ego to give up the hard life, such a man may well decide to check out early from this mortal coil.

This is not to say that all the people who commit suicide are entirelyto blame for their predicament. There are the less fortunate among us who see nothing more than boundless misery in life and are left drained of hope, thanks to the apathy of their fellow men. When such men chose to take their own lives, everyone of us selfish people deserve equal blame. Civilization, by definition, can not function without an element of altruism. Having ranted at length on this topic in several of my previous posts, I will say no more on the topic... for the moment.

P.S. Describing the Antarctic as desolate magnificience is an undoubtedly lame play on Buzz Aldrin's description of the lunar surface and was therefore, irresistable to me.

What I do and why I do it

2008-06-06T19:17:00.003-06:00

What could be more rewarding than utilizing the power of thought to illuminate the workings of the universe (/life) itself? But in order for one to begin connecting the dots, one needs dots. It is the function of experiments and mathematical modeling to provide such dots. While advances in technology have enabled us to obtain ever more precise dots in ever greater number, identification of the pattern that emerges from them remains the sole domain of human intellect. However, inherent in this grand description is recognition of the limited nature of human scientific knowledge. A scientific theory is merely the most complex simplification of a real process that can be achieved at the given time. This is because we are unable to observe the whole fabric of reality, depending instead on experiments and mathematics to transduce a few bits and pieces of it into a form that our senses may perceive. As long as this remains the case, a scientist can never run dry of curiosities to indulge. Indeed what a curious thing the human condition is? Our limitations ironically ensure an inexhaustible source of mystery that we may forever be amused.

Just because we killed you, it doesn't mean we don't love you.

2008-04-05T14:35:00.004-06:00

The meaning of one’s existence (I refer to a meaning bounded by the span of one’s consciousness and not to any manner of grand, unifying purpose) comes from interactions of one’s consciousness with the universe at large and with other conscious minds. The proportion of these two types of interactions is determined by who we are and in turn defines our identity. Sometimes, in interacting with certain people we find the meaning of our own existence enriched. These are the people with whom we form stable, meaningful bonds – love, friendship and the like.

Once in a while there comes along an individual whose existence enriches that of many – a hero. Indeed a hero is one who can love many as his own and continue to do so without having to avert his eyes from the truth. Because, heroes are reviled more than they are loved – that is the way of our “society”. Our actions scream out the words we dare not whisper – the only good heroes are dead ones. While they live, heroes are the squeaky wheels that will not be silences. They are the square pegs that will not be contained by the round holes of our “society”. They are the thorn in our collective side. But truly they are the sheep in a den full of wolves in sheep’s clothing.

Why do we hold such contempt for them? Perhaps because they are who we wish to be and by being noble, they reflect the ugliness in the rest of us. We are too lazy to live by our principles, or to even have a clear moral framework; so we deem it impossible. We blame our failures on “the human condition”, but then a very human being comes along and offers us a glimpse of what is possible. And we hate him for it. We destroy him as best we can – we may not always succeed at destroying the idea of a hero, but we certainly excel at destroying the person of one. Once we’ve killed a hero, we try to truly bury him and all that he stood for. Failing that, we place him on a pedestal. In what must be the greatest mockery of them all, we then condemn our own hand that did the killing. But at some level we all know that our collective hands are stained with more blood than we care to admit, even to ourselves.

Once a hero is slain we go to work on him with the all the skill of a master artist: we place his name in lights and sing ballads in his honor even as we grind down the idea he stood for, until all that remain are a few weak words. Words like liberty and non-violence – words that we may then utter with mock ceremony without fear of being affected by the idea they once represented. That way we can sweep away our collective guilt under the proverbial carpet and move on with our “lives”. Ain’t WE grand?

The one redeeming truth, though, is that heroes do sometimes succeed – rarely to the extent they had aspired to and almost always, paying with their lives – but at the end of the day, they stand tall over (against?) the rest of us.

P.S. This post was inspired by a radio talk show discussing the ideals that Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. stood for.

What could be more human than hope?

2008-03-09T13:51:00.002-06:00

This is in response to a comment on my previous post.

What could be more human thank hope?
Anynymous said:

Adultery
Backstabbing
Jealousy
Irrationality
Wasting Money on Valentines Day
Substance Abuse (show me one bonobo or iguana that does it?)
Emotional manipulation (the preserve of the average Indian parent)
Evil (this is purely a human thing, born entirely out of ignorance)
Obsession with stupid games in which grown men fool around with spherical objects
Belief in a grand narrative known as life (when it is just a series of digressions)

Indeed many, if not all of the above are all too commonplace. But the question is, do they constitute what may be described as "human"? I for one do not think so. Quite to the contrary, they constitute a failure to be "human". It is my opinion that belonging to the species Homo sapiens sapiens alone does not qualify one as a human being. To me, humanity is an ideal one strives for every moment of one's existence. Humanity is no congenitally conferred label, it is a state of mind achieved through long and rigorous learning (and I'm not talking about reading Chicken Soup for the Soul). For a more detailed discussion of my views on the subject, see "Human Life".

P.S. With regard to Anonymous' list of things human, I find it rather odd that obsession with sports or enriching the coffers of Hallmark should be placed right alongside jealousy, backstabbing and ignorance.

Madness explained? Maybe

2008-02-04T10:36:00.001-07:00

First things first. For those who were offended by my statements regarding religion in my previous post "Madness returns...with a vengeance": Calm the fuck down! (Yes, I can be nice.) I have nothing against religion, as long as one man's religion does not step on the toes of another man's liberty. Now, if that's true, why would I say the things I said? That post was supposed to be one long (OK! and somewhat twisted) joke - I was trying consciously to dance on either side of the border between sounding coherent and launching into a 'nonsenseical rant' on the subject of rational thought - I thought it would make for a few good laughs.

That being said, two questions have come up that I would like to address. The first and by far the easier one to answer concerns my rationality. I don't presume to consider myself a rational being. Rather I'm stark raving mad , grasping at the frayed ends of rational thought from time to time. (Maybe I'm just using colorful words describing myself as 'stark raving mad' but for some odd reason it makes me really happy, so, I must really be mad.) [Please tell me you laughed at this one, or else!]

Now for the other question. Being someone who describes himself as a 'man without beliefs', where do I stand on the subject of faith? Nowhere really. Let me clarify. To me liberty is the ultimate and all-encompassing virtue. One who comprehends liberty will value equally his own and that of his fellow men. Thus, such a person automatically seeks the noble within himself. So then, where does the big G fit into all this?

What is God but a construct to rationalize morality (dharma, to be more precise)? It takes little effort to see that this is a construct very much of human making. The understanding that walking the right path is its own reward simply obviates the need for the construct. In essence, a truly rational atheist rejects not the ideal but merely the construct, the packaging of the idea, if you will. A long time ago, a very wise people put this succinctly when they said, “Anbe sivam”. And yet, those who now stand upon the shoulders of these are blind to this truth. Why? Because, millennia of intellectual lethargy have led to the construct replacing the very ideals it stood for. Method has given way to madness, vision to myopia. And the fear bred by myopia feeds on itself, restricting thought even more. Indeed, what a wonderful instrument of control the idea of blasphemy is!

Rather than launch into another lengthy tirade as I am wont to do, I will just say that ignorance is the villain, as always. And should the light of reason ever break through this fog, perhaps people of the different faiths and those of none may see that they are after all more alike than different.

P.S. What could be more human than hope?

Just words...

2008-01-04T09:17:00.000-07:00

What's in a word? Everything, some say. That seems to be our collective point of view as a society. Why else would we fear some words so much? Invectives, the very sound of the word is ominous - as though, to say it out loud would invoke some dark malevolent power. Indeed we fear these words so much that we place restrictions on their public use, resorting to censorship even as we speak loftily of the freedom of expression. Such hypocrisy! What are mere words without thoughts behind them and actions ahead? NOTHING! (I'm not denying the power of words here. I'm merely pointing out the fact that the power of words stems from the thoughts that inspire them and the actions that they inspire.) And yet, we obsess over words rather than thoughts and actions. We shield our children, who are the best part of us, from words while it is the thoughts and actions that do them the most harm.

What makes us this way? It's simply laziness - intellectual and moral. We always want an easy out - morality for dummies, if you will. Do these ten things, don't do those ten and you're all set. It's easier to keep a few words out of one's vocabulary than to steer clear of malice, of envy and all things ugly. If only we had the courage to strive to find the right path every moment of our lives, we would see how blind we are to fear words. As a realist, I know that will never be - so I shall plod on, painting invectives for what they are... just words.

P.S. This post was written at Pingu's request to clarify my reasons for peppering my previous post so generously with four letter words and other choice gems from the English lexicon.

Madness returns... with a vengenace

2007-12-28T13:44:00.001-07:00

No pretenses, circular nonsense follows! This post isn't going to go anywhere, it's not even going to try - it is going to be the purest form the abundant junk that primarily composes the Internet. Interesting, considering it would appear to be a perfect analogue to a person, yes a damn person! What the flying fuck does that mean? It means I'm calling the human race the biggest trash pile in the history of our rockpile - the planet we so lovingly named Earth, and the very same planet we choose to clusterfuck in innumerable ways.

Everything has its beauty but not everyone sees it. - Confucius

[That's the attitude you need to have while reading my blog.]

This is the point where you're thinking, "Geez, what an arrogant prick this guy is!" Well, guess what, 'Oh exalted one', I never said I wasn't one. In fact, I've never said much about who I am, except that I consider myself a 'nobody'. The universe has no laws against nobodies being either raving lunatics or arrogant pricks on an ego-trip, or even both. So, what am I saying about myself? NOTHING!! If I knew something of consequence about myself, I probably wouldn't be writing crap like this.

Something is rotten in the state of Denmark. - Marcellus (William Shakespeare, Hamlet)

[Don't look at me. Whatever it is, I didn't do it!]

What do I know about myself then? I know I like chocolate. And, I know I hate three kinds of fuckbags more than all other kinds (I'll get to the different kinds of fuckbags later, maybe) - fuckbags who try to insinuate themselves into my life as though it were their birthright, fuckbags who presume to know what path I should take through life, and most of all, fuckbags who try to define reality using an explicit function. I mean, what the hell will it take for you to see how fucking stupid that is -an explicit function! Am I saying by implication that I think reality should be characterized using an implicit function? Fuck, NO!! If you're religious, you must understand that! If you're a rationalist, you must be in splits - yes, you are most welcome! And, if you're a religious rationalist, you are an oxymoron and a fucking moron! Someone should have told you that by now.

The gods offer no rewards for intellect. There was never one yet that showed any interest in it... - Mark Twain

[Really? I figured there must be one helluva reward for intellect. Why else would so many be out to kill it?]

Holy F Cow!! How quickly a post grows when content is not an issue! Once again, am I implying that my shorter posts have something in the way of content? Or even that that was ever the idea at least? Fuck, no! When will you ever learn? Half the problems humans have with fellow humans arise from the utterly naive assumption that simple logic can be applied to human behavior. People are many things - chiefly screwy and goofy. There, I said it. It's the wisdom of ages! People are screwy and goofy! Now will you hold off on the bloody assumptions? Look where they've gotten us!

Adversity is the first path to truth. - Lord Byron

[So, keep reading!]

On a random note (hey, I'm by no means saying that anything I've said thusfar was any less random. [sly grin]), if you're wondering about the rather prodigious use of profanity in this post, you must really believe that everything happens for a reason. Well, everything happens for a reason all right - Mr. Murphy's amusement! He loves your kind - especially the way you're always running around in circles with your hair in flames when shit happens.

Everything happens to everybody sooner or later if there is time enough. - George Bernard Shaw

[So, stop blaming me!]

Some of you must be scratching your heads as to why I capitalized the 'I' in Internet. (If you're not, you need to be more observant.) Well, that seems to be the convention when invoking entities that are omnipotent, omniscient and omnipresent in nature and the Internet's not only damn close on all three counts but we also know for sure that it exists! That in my book definitely counts for something. (You didn't expect me to go this far without taking a pot-shot at the big G, did you?)

"God does not care about our mathematical difficulties. He integrates empirically." - Albert Einstein

[You and I have to live and die so that 'he' can get y=42?]

Those of you with live hamsters running within the wheel upstairs might recall my promise to discuss the different kinds of fuckbags there are. If it shocks you to know that I don't intend to keep my word, please DO NOT VOTE! Anyway, I'm getting tired from spewing all this drivel, so I'm going to take a break. (Finally, you have something to be really thankful for. Thankful to whom? ME. Because this reprieve that you're getting is my benefaction.) In any case, I think I've managed to give you a glimpse of what happens when a train of though derails - no, it's not pretty at all. So, indeed, you are most welcome.

P.S. No supreme beings where harmed during the writing of this post.

A momentary lapse of madness

2007-12-26T14:48:00.000-07:00

"In solitude, we are least alone." - Lord Byron

The icy fingers of the wind played across the craggy mountainside, screaming a primeval lullaby; tough love. The wanderer looked up towards the sky, smiling. The stars smiled back. The stillness of solitude offered him a measure of peace. He wouldn't quite call it enlightenment, no, that would be too self-assured. Rather, he felt what could only be described as a certain sense of equilibrium - a feeling of comfort, of belonging. Call it hope, if you will. As the cold winter breeze washed over him, he felt strangely comforted. In some odd way, he felt warm. Far from the screams, the curses, and the tears, he was home. As he stood upon that mountain, time faded into irrelevance, the voices of the past drowned out by the howling wind. And the future waited patiently, in silence. All he heard was the wind's raspy voice, absorbing and soothing. At that moment, nothing existed beyond the mountain. Memory dared not interrupt his reverie. No, he had not forgotten the past, rather, he'd learned much from it. And, at that moment, he'd simply chosen not to summon his recollections. The heat from his intense inward gaze had burned away the cobwebs, so, he could finally see past the surreal gray facades. He smelled the roses, felt their thorns and appreciated both sensations equally. He was a child, once more. Ever onward, deeper inward; the wanderer would never stop.

This whole rant was inspired by the following quote which I encountered in John Krakauer's Into The Wild:

"No man ever followed his genius till it misled him. Though the result were bodily weakness, yet perhaps no one can say that the consequences were to be regretted, for these were a life in conformity to higher principles. If the day and night are such that you greet them with joy, and life emits a fragrance like flowers and sweet-scented herbs, is more elastic, more starry, more immortal, ... That is your success. All nature is your congratulation, and you have cause momentarily to bless yourself. The greatest gains and values are farthest from being appreciated. We easily come to doubt if they exist. We soon forget them. They are the highest reality. ... The true harvest of my daily life is somewhat as intangible and indescribable as the tints of morning or evening. It is a little star-dust caught, a segment of the rainbow which I have clutched." - Henry David Thoreau, Walden or Life in the Woods.

Reflections in the red eye

2007-11-17T19:13:00.000-07:00

How do you fight thoughts? How do you disconnect emotions from memories? By losing consciousness. Most people sleep through their entire lives without even realizing it. They are blissful in their ignorance.

Among the few who do perceive reality - they are the ones who see the gray that lies just under the facade of color, and the brilliant colour that lies past that gray - there are fewer still who are able to process the overwhelming barrage of sensory input and actually make something of it. The wise cut the glare by looking through a visor composed of patience and detachment. To the rest, however, reality is so loud, it's deafening and beyond comprehension - for the symmetry of the universe eludes the impatient eye. To see it for even the most fleeting of moments can precipitate an epiphany.

It is such an epiphany that can complicate things somewhat for an individual. For he now knows the endpoint but not the path that will lead him there. And in searching for this path, one learns repeatedly, the limitless extent of human inadequacies. Some are driven by an indescribable inner flame (call it curiosity, if you will) to to try again... and again. These are people who know the true nature of hope and see its beauty. Others, however, give up on the quest and even end up regretting their awakening, so to speak. These are the ones who try consciously to sleepwalk through life (a combination of fatigue and sleep deprivation works rather well, actually). It would smack of hubris for one to pity such sleepwalkers, especially so for one who has knowingly wasted years. The decent thing to do would be to offer hope and encouragement.

So, I shall end with a rather popular and often abused quote from Swami Vivekananda - "Arise, awake, and stop not till the goal is reached."

On the subject of faith

2007-11-08T16:06:00.000-07:00

A short while ago, I read excerpts from an article by Bhagat Singh, outlining the rationale behind his atheism - "Why I am an atheist". While I may not share his enthusiasm on the subject of Marxism (I will return to this topic, albeit briefly, in a short while), I must agree with him on the subjects of faith and rational thought. While I have tried to explain my position in this regard in previous posts, I can hardly hold a candle to Bhagat Singh when it comes to the clarity of his words and the exhaustiveness of his arguments.

Returning to the subject of Marxism, I believe that it is doomed to failure because, it fails to take into account human nature. Albert Einstein reportedly said, "Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity...and I'm not sure about the universe." Einstein may have been uncertain about the universe but Marx most definitely forgot to account for human stupidity. And, I will define stupidity broadly to include selfishness (in the sense that some measure of altruism in the individual is essential for the success of the species), ignorance, intellectual laziness and all of the innumerable other flavors we humans have come up with. When you think about the level of human stupidity, it becomes clear that two things are inevitable - one is the failure of Marxist principles and the other is the success of religion, 'organized' or otherwise.

To me, science is part of the silver lining around the dark, noxious cloud of human accomplishment. It seems almost miraculous that science and religion (the kind that is dogmatic and forced upon others by its proponents) evolved simultaneously and on occasion, within the same elements of consciousness. What separates the two is a short span over a deep crevasse - ideas on one side and beliefs on the other. And while believers may find the ways of science dry, cynical, unromantic and without hope, I would argue otherwise. What could be more beautiful than experience and understanding? What could be more cynical than believing in a supreme being who would stand by and watch the innocent be wronged? There is yet room for optimism for one who points to randomness to the way the world is.

Therefore, it is on the basis of history that I argue that faith is a luxury of the privileged, a refuge of the ignorant and an opium of the masses. Of those who would disagree, I only ask that they show me the data that would suggest otherwise.

PS. Thank you Partha, for pointing me to the article (Why I am an atheist).

Why walk alone?

2007-09-12T23:20:00.000-06:00

If you're the type of person that knows the path to take through life, have you ever wondered what it would be like to not know where you wish to go? True, uncertainty can be decidedly unpleasant, in some odd way like sea-sickness, but it does offer a certain freedom. A freedom to choose any path at every fork in the road. That is a freedom not afforded a man of vision. Indeed, one must pay a price to chase a vision - one must forsake anything that may lead one astray, however dear it may be to one's heart. Often, men who choose such a path walk alone, immersed in the world around them and yet far removed at the same time. They are men cognizant of the price and willing to pay it. Though it is not always gladly that they make sacrifices, they do it with the unfailing faith that in the end, it will all be worth it. The essential question then is rather simple - is their faith true? Or are they lost? There's only one way to find out, isn't there?

This, that and some other stuff

2007-09-12T22:49:00.000-06:00

What have I been doing this long? I've been pondering the title of my as yet unwritten book... the book that I shall write... well, time frames are really just constraints. Anyway, here are some working titles I've come up with:

Drink heavily, in moderation.
The pleasure of finding things that go bump in the dark by accidentally stepping on them, killing them in the process
Well, fuck you too! I fucking refuse to be fucking angered!
Inventive invective
Just some more crap...
Don't bother reading any further.
You will regret buying this book... I promise.
All you'll ever need to know about nothing
An uneventful life
Plotting to take over the world... and other self-motivation techniques

What have I been reading lately?

2007-08-05T19:20:00.000-06:00

I was tagged by Pingu about a couple of months ago. I'm supposed to quote the last sentence from page 123 of the book I'm currently reading (I think those were the stipulations). As always I'm part way through a handful of books. I've decided to quote from two of the books because the others are graphic novels. Also, I've decided to quote my favorite lines instead of arbitrarily chosen ones.

Book 1: Brain Droppings by George Carlin
"Intelligence tests are biased towards the literate."

Book 2: The Pleasure of Finding Things Out by Richard P.Feynman
"I don't have to be good because they think I'm going to be good."

Downfall

2007-08-05T17:14:00.000-06:00

The skies burn.
The very air seems to boil.
The daystar shines so bright.
Vying for glory,
A second midday sun.
Almost beautiful,
Decidely terrible.
A fleeting moment of unparalleled brilliance,
Before the world dissolves away,
Ushering in the darkness.
A darkness lasting much too long,
Choking into oblivion,
The last breath of life.
A mother lies hurt, scorched, scarred.
Her children all dead.
Her beautiful children, her terrible children,
Gone. Never to return.
Fate, so quick thy hand,
So cruel thy retribution.
Justice? It matters not.
The past is past,
The future awaits.
She lays sleeping,
Not dead.
Perhaps, the mushroom cloud had a silver lining.

I believe that while there always exists hope for the individual to find meaning in life, our civilization itself is merely circling the drain. If there ever existed a species on this planet whose extinction was not merely inevitable but deserved, it would be Homo sapiens sapiens. For we have allowed vile beasts like hate and war to roam free on our watch. The above lines are not a foretelling of the future, they merely offer a foreboding vision of a beast of our own creation consuming us at one fell swoop.

The Return of Random Rants

2007-08-04T23:35:00.000-06:00

With reference to books, when did popularity ever become a complete measure of quality? Of the people who say it is, I ask this “Who died and made you king?”

Moving a couple of steps to the side from that thought – why do we judge each other by the books we’ve read or failed to read? It’s all too often that one hears some thing like, “You seriously can’t call yourself a reader if you haven’t read Tolstoy/Shakespeare/Macnife!” Oh, really? Is he not stupid who does not realize there have been so many great books written over the ages that it is entirely possible for different people to have read any number of great books without ever reading what the others in question have read? Granted, some great books are so widely read in a certain age that it may come as a surprise that one with a taste for books should have not read such a book. But to judge them based on that, that’s arrogant and stupid.

Have you ever felt like a sheep in a wolf’s clothing hiding among wolves? I have. And then for a while, I felt as though I was really the wolf hiding among the sheep. Strangely, I now feel like neither sheep nor wolf... I just don't know any more!

It’s 10:55pm and the temperature in my bedroom is 68.0 degrees Fahrenheit. I am sure that the probability of this statement being interpreted by ‘scholars’ who will ‘unlock its inner meaning’ is greater than zero. I wonder how much of what we ‘know’ is the product of such ‘insight’.

Continuing in the same vein: I am told that the fourth word of every seventh line from the odd-numbered pages of all seven Harry Potter books taken together spell out a secret message inviting the children of the world to unite under the banner of the duck-billed platypus and revolt against capitalism and chocolate teddy bears.

Often, genius is peppered with a dash of madness. However, madness alone is all too often mistaken for genius.

Could there be a better role model for me than a vision of the man I seek to be? Not only is such a role model open to constant evolution, but also it is impossible to be let down by him.

Is it not stupid to act solely to avoid future regret?

__________________________________________________
Here’s a conversation that happened inside my head between me and a hypothetical ‘true believer’ (let’s call him B):

Me: So you say there’s a god who is omniscient, omnipotent and omnipresent and that he made the universe?
B: Yes, of course!
Me: Then how do you explain the fact that I’m an asshole who won’t accept that? If god made me, wouldn’t he have made me aware of that fact?
B: No, He gave us all free will.
Me: Really? Why would he do that? To see what we’d do with it? But being omniscient, he should already know the answer to that – thus obviating the need for such an experiment.

Oh wait, he’s not only watching me, but will judge me after I die, right? If he already knew where I was going to end up and still let me do it, I’d say he has one hell of a twisted sense of humor.

And if you amend your definition and say he’s not omniscient, I ask you then why would he make you and me then? What is his purpose for creating the universe? To watch and learn? Wait, now he’s a scientist? But he wants you to forget about the science and have faith?

B: You’re evil!
Me: Sounds to me like you don’t have a real answer. My job is done then. Time to wake up and get to work – happens to be science by the way. I’m out of here, before you decide to kill me.
B: Good! And, don’t come back!

__________________________________________________

"Let me give just one example of how the argument goes. By adding up all the begets in the Book of Genesis you can get the age of the Earth. It turns out to be about six thousand years old—A begat B, B begat C, C begat D. A's lifetime is stated, B's, C's and so on. Then you get up to historical times. Add it all up: 4004 B.C. according to Archbishop Usher. Now, if that is the case, then an interesting question arises. How is it that there are astronomical objects more than 6000 light-years away? It takes light a year to travel a light-year, so if we see an object that is a million light-years away or two million light-years away, we are seeing it as it was one or two million years ago in the past. If the entire universe is only 6,000 years old, what must we deduce from this? I think the only possible conclusion is that 6,000 years ago God made all the photons of light coming to the Earth in a coherent format so as to deceive astronomers into thinking there are such things as galaxies, that the universe is vast and old.

"Since most of the matter and energy in the universe is in external galaxies farther away than a million light-years, God must have created most of the matter and energy in the universe to deceive human beings. That is such a malevolent theology as well as such an arrogant pretension that I cannot believe anyone, no matter how devoted to the literal interpretation of this or that religious book, could seriously consider it. " - Carl Sagan
__________________________________________________

PS. If, after reading this post, even one person reaches for a paper, a pen and the Harry Potter books, my job on this planet is done and I can go home!

A walk in the rain

2007-05-19T02:37:00.000-06:00

This post was inspired by Pingu's post titled Relentless Rain. Not often does one read lines so moving, the hand reaches for the pen, seemingly of its own volition.

Gray looms and thunder roars,

The heavens open up,

The Gods vent their fury.

I stand defenseless,

Fists clenched in rage,

Eyes aflame with defiance.

As I look up in tense anticipation,

The first salvo hits, with unfailing precision,

Washing my anger away?

A walk in the rain.

A vision of power

2007-05-01T09:43:00.000-06:00

Part 1: Questions

A thousand worries weighing down my mind,
Forgotten at the sight of a bright blue sky.
The cacophony of demons trying to break down locked doors,
Drowned out by a refrain sublime.
Glimpses into infinity, far beyond the provincial,

Visions of the self, revealing answers and questions,
Questions that propel me to seek, to learn.
Therefore, I am. Therefore, I wander.

I have more questions than answers. But that inspires no fear in my mind. Far from it, it is the force that drives me - to be, to live, to wander, to seek, to learn. In life, I revel. Is that not power*? If so, where does it stem from? More questions - wonderful!

Part 2 - Answers

Vast open spaces. Endless skies. Clouds. As I looked upon just such a scene, I felt as though I was looking upon the very visage of freedom itself. The clouds, they come and go as they please, they rain down upon the land when it is their whim to do so, they answer to none.** As I looked upon that scene, I realized that their freedom stemmed from the absence of any moorings whatsoever.

Power derives from knowledge and knowledge itself is born out of freedom, freedom of thought. And such power is true as it is supreme - for it is contingent upon no fact save that of one's existence.

A man without beliefs, a god*** without believers,

Beholden to none, all powerful, am I.

* I do not speak of power in the mundane oft-used sense of the word. Power over the actions of of others and to an extent even my own, mean little to me. When liberty of action is but an illusion, how can power over actions be real? True power is that of free thought - the shedding of chains forged by thousands of years of human civilization, chains we receive in the name of education. A human mind free of all bonds is truly a thing of beauty and of immense power. It is that very power that I speak of.

** Here, I speak of the vision of the clouds that I saw and not of the objects that the clouds really are. What I saw at that moment was much more than merely "a visible mass of condensed droplets or frozen crystals suspended in the atmosphere".

*** I DO NOT refer to any supreme being with a penchant for rolling dice. Also, I feel no obligation to capitalise the word because it is just that, a word. Words have no meaning in the absolute, only ideas do. I use the word merely to describe a state of equilibrium that transcends the mundane. I think John Keats was thinking of much the same thing when he wrote "Beauty is truth truth beauty."

What makes me happy?

2007-04-23T23:03:00.000-06:00

A tag from Pingu.

Sunny skies with just a few white clouds.

Good coffee.

My mom opening the door to let me into the house.

Dark chocolate.

A glass of cold water on a hot summer day.

The smell of fresh cut grass.

The sound of waves.

Stepping out for an ice cream during a snow storm.

Good comic books/cartoons/anime/movie.

Sitting down to a hot self-cooked meal (especially when it's something exotic).

Spending an entire day on my couch looking at cloudy skies listening to jazz or mood rock.

Orange popsicles.

Watching the sun set while sitting on a hill top with my feet dangling over the edge.

Writing, sketching, making model airplanes.

Saturday mornings.

Re: Yeh thi khabrein aaj tak, intezaar khijiye kal tak

2007-04-23T22:55:00.000-06:00

This is in response to "Yeh thi khabrein aaj tak, intezaar khijiye kal tak" on Pingu's blog.

I think 'journalists' and news anchors these days come off an assembly line managed by a bunch of egotistic cretins in some B-school (wonder if the B indicates the grade of the institution in question). They are all the same - all confirming to the same LOW standards, all with the same illusions of grandeur. Poseurs and losers!

All they have accomplished is the perversion of the once-revered fourth estate into an abomination in the service of greed, deceit and authoritarianism. They rant and rave incessantly about trivia, leaving real stories to rot away from the public eye. They trivialize and sensationalize events that do matter, until the public is sickened. But worst of all they spread fear (without reason) and help undermine democracy (whatever's left of it).

William Randolph Hurst once said "You furnish the pictures and I'll furnish the war.” At least he knew what real journalism was and so he could tell hype from news - even when he was the one creating the hype. In contrast, today's losers swallow every bit of their own circus acts and actually believe they are jornalists. How PATHETIC!! Hardly any politician today is worthy of being called a statesman just as hardly any news reporter/anchor today is worthy of being called a journalist.

Pardon my strong language in this post but I have nothing but contempt for their kind and even that is more than they deserve.

Human life

2007-04-20T23:21:00.000-06:00

Disclaimer: This is by no means an attempt to answer the question of life, the universe and everything. That answer has already been published - it is 42. What we have here is merely a discussion of one man's perception and how it has changed.

But I am only human…” Countless are the times I have used these words to justify my mistakes, my faults to myself and to others. After all, our flaws are the very things that make us human – at least that’s what I thought. But I see now, how that single notion was the defining factor of my perceptions, my actions, my very existence. I was too lazy to change, I knew it and yet I was too lazy to accept to myself the wrong in that. The result was a young man with a very myopic vision, bereft of direction.

Add to that, the fact that I saw myself more through the eyes of others than through my own – I was looking at myself from the outside when I should have been looking outward at the world from within. I concerned myself more with who I was perceived to be than with who I really was. Even when I was being a rebel and a non-conformist, I was trying to be different instead of being myself. The result was constant turmoil within – a tug of war between the person I was/am and the person I was trying to be. As a result, I often did things that caused me much hurt, not to mention the pain inflicted upon to those dearest to me – I was by no means blind to the truth, yet I was somehow powerless to stop myself.

And then suddenly I realized one day that I’d changed and that the world had changed for me. There was a sense of satisfaction and fulfillment that had always been missing from my life before. There had been no epiphany, no lifting of veils, but my life had practically turned itself upside down (rather it had finally up righted itself) – I’d found once again the lost joy of childhood; it was as though I’d come full circle. And when I thought about it, I realized how simple it had been – I’d finally learned to detach my perception from that of others. This had opened my eyes to the truth that happiness is not merely the byproduct of the pursuit and attainment of ones goals but that happiness is itself the goal and everything else but byproducts. I’m sure that every 3 year old knows that. Yet as surely as we grow bigger with age, we lose all the wisdom of childhood.

All my rage, hate and cynicism had been mere symptoms of my lack of perception. With the realization that the pursuit of happiness is really the very purpose of life (at least to me it is) came recognition of the things that give me joy. I live to satisfy my curiosity – to try and solve the mysteries that are so abundant in nature. The moment when the solution to a problem begins to take form in my mind, the moment an idea is born, that moment is what I live for. The pure joy that it gives me leaves no room for any pain or sadness. And it is at such a moment that it hit me – humanity is not in the flaws, it is in the recognition of flaws and in transcending them, even if only for the most fleeting of moments.

I realize finally that my life is really all about "my" "life". Don’t get me wrong. I do not suffer from illusions of grandeur. I recognize fully how trivial my existence is in the context of the universe. In fact, it is my belief that the existence of any individual has no purpose (in the context of the universe). But that does not bother me; I revel in it – life doesn’t need a pre-ordained purpose to be sweet. Life is whatever one makes of it; purpose is whatever one wishes it to be. And to me, the purpose to learn, to experience, to enjoy.

It's here... finally!

2007-04-08T13:26:00.000-06:00

After much delay, mostly due to my own tardiness, it's finally here - Macnife's Nano-reef Blog. Although it's still in a very rudimentary state, I promise lots of photos and info real soon!

Rot

2007-03-22T11:46:00.000-06:00

What becomes of a man after death? So many of us desperately seek the answer to that question. But I, Rengasayee Veeraraghavan, graduate student, know the answer. Yes. What becomes of a man after death? He becomes a statistic. Pathetic as it may sound, it is the truth. No matter what he may have accomplished in life, no matter what the manner of his death - he just becomes a statistic, for death is the great equalizer.

Let me present my case before you judge me a cynic. "Nothing is certain in life but death." When a man dies, it does indeed impact the living to varying degrees - people may grieve over his loss or they may celebrate his passing. But none of the emotions of the living have impact the dead. But the collective memory of humanity has a very short life span and eventually all that remains is a statistic dutifully written down somewhere, to last relatively much longer than the memory of the dead.

Our perceptions of the lives and deaths of other men depend on how far we are separated from then in space and time. Do any among us really grieve for our distant ancestors? How many of us even know much of the lives they led? And what of the multitudes dying every day in some corner of the world far removed from our miniscule awareness? What do we do when we learn of people killed by terrorists and imperialist nations in the Middle east, by starvation and disease in africa? In the worst case, we hardly bother to disguise our apathy - uttering a couple of inane words expressing emotion, openly feigned. The somewhat more sympathetic among us may contribute our two cents of spare change to some charity and move on with our lives. But what do we really know of the dead beyond the statistics? Do we know how many of the dead were doting parents or loving children? Do we even spare a thought for the bereaved? WHAT DO WE KNOW BEYOND STATISTICS?

But what of those individuals who dedicate their lives to helping their fellow men? The noble among us. I neither deny their existence nor do I discount the magnitude of their deeds. Indeed, so colossal have been the deeds of some, that we may think they have impacted humanity itself. But have they really? For instance, Abraham Lincoln and Mahatma Gandhi are two such men - their ideas and actions have impacted the lives of countless human beings. When Lincoln abolished slavery in the United States of America, when Gandhi liberated India from the British yoke - no small feats - they changed the course of human history. They even implanted their ideas and values into the hearts of many.

Yet, the bigotry, hate, apathy and greed that tarnish humanity as a whole remain undiminished. Not even the most significant events in our history have been able to cause changes that aren't merely cosmetic. For example, slavery may have been abolished in the so-called civilized world but has that stopped men from exploiting their fellow men to serve their own personal greed? HARDLY! The lot of humanity has more or less remained constant through history. Just like life itself, human nature is an irrepressible force - it will always find a way. And it is the rotting core of humanity itself that deserves blame for the way the world is.

So how then do we save ourselves? We don't. It's too late for that. All we have to look forward to is our inevitable extinction. Until the moment of our end is upon is, we will continue to remain wrapped up in the cocoons of our pointless pursuits, blissfully ignorant of reality. The only consolation is that none of it would have mattered, even slightly, to the universe. In the words of George Carlin, "we started off as a species with much promise but now we're just circling the drain."

Let me leave you with these words from Albert Einstein - "The release of atom power has changed everything except our way of thinking...the solution to this problem lies in the heart of mankind. If only I had known, I should have become a watchmaker."

PS. Still think I'm being cynical? Just read the news.

Random rants 2

2007-03-21T14:43:00.000-06:00

Our existence is all the more precious and sweeter for its fragility.

It is perversely funny that through the course of human history, more people have been killed in the name of God than for any other cause – testimony to our limitless ignorance.

Nobility necessitates, to varying degrees, acting counter to Darwinism – what remains to be seen is whether it is a fatal flaw or redeeming virtue.

Human perception is inherently relative, a fact we often forget. The only way we are able to perceive the absolute is through the absence of stimulus.

That all knowledge beyond that of one’s own existence is at some level or the other, based on arbitrary assumption(s) is a fact seldom recognized.

The principle of moderation is applicable to everything - everything but chocolate.

While one may think he knows himself from years of temperate existence, he can only be sure after having stared into oblivion from the very edge of the precipice.

Hedonism is for those too naïve to comprehend the nature of happiness.

Macnife's Reef Blog: Coming soon!

2007-02-28T15:38:00.000-07:00

The past few weeks have been rather eventful for me and my two marine aquariums. I finally got my home tank set up the way I wanted and I've got most of items on my livestock wishlist... for now. The older office tank has also been through a series of minor changes, with a couple more being planned. Both tanks have pretty much stabilized and look very close to what I had in mind.

I've finally started seriously shooting pictures of my tanks and I figured it'd be fun to start a new blog to put up these pictures with some information about the organisms. As a rank newbie at reefkeeping, this will also be a good way for me to learn more.

At the very least, I can promise that at least the pictures will be interesting. So 'ang on to yer knickers folks!

Doodles

2007-02-19T12:45:00.000-07:00

I just happened to pick up my pencil yesterday evening after approximately 3 days short of forever. A few hours of timeless fun later, I realized I wasn't too rusty after all. (to be understood as "I was never much better than I am now.") Anyway, here are the fruits of my fine evening.

I've never been good at drawing people. So when I decided to try it yesterday, I decided to be nice and make myself the first victim. Notice that I selected a picture where I was still recognizable without my face being visible.

The things I was good at sketching are animals/birds/body parts (biology stuff), macho machines (fighter aircraft, guns, tanks... you get the idea) and comic book characters. So I figured I'd try one of those and then take it a step further.

I sketched out this negative image of the Batman and then played around with it on Photoshop.

Some simle contrast manipulation and a little thresholding and lo and behold!

Boy, am I glad I picked up that pencil! This is another one of my erstwhile hobbies that I've decided to revive. And just to make sure I don't slip back into laziness, I'll put up a sketch or two on this blog from time to time.

Vultures indeed

2007-02-15T10:09:00.000-07:00

Being as far from financially savvy as I am - given the choice I'd keep my money in a tin box - I had never heard of vulture funds before I read this news article on the BBC.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/business/6365433.stm

The little I learned about vulture funds was enough to make me sick to the pit of my stomach. These people buy up the debts of the poorest of nations just as they are about to be written off and then sue the country for the full amount plus interest. They are no better than the animals who stole trinkets off tsunami victims.

However an equal share of the blame belongs to the callous bankers who allow these 'vultures' to acquire the debts of poor nations. They are no better than the criminals who put guns into the hands of children and turn away, blind to the consequences of their actions.

All I feel at this point is anger and helplessness but this issue must not be allowed to be swept under the carpet. Something needs to be done. I wish I knew what.

Farewell

2007-01-18T11:29:00.000-07:00

Art Buchwald died earlier today. Saddened as I am at this loss, I must accept that all good things come to an end. I am glad for having experienced the phenomenon that was Art.

I'll always remember his weekly column in the Hindu - each instalment gave new meaning to satire. He never pulled his punches yet delivered them with such subtlety and finesse that even those on the receiving end of his criticism could deny neither the truth nor the humor in his words.

Here are a few characteristic quotes that come to mind.

"You can't make up anything anymore. The world itself is a satire. All you're doing is recording it."

"A bad liver is to a Frenchman what a nervous breakdown is to an American. Everyone has had one and everyone wants to talk about it. "

Art Buchwald, you will ever be missed and your words never forgotten. It still feels "Too Soon to Say Goodbye".

Legacy of the unknown soldier

2007-01-11T19:52:00.000-07:00

Remember not, the likes of me.
Remember not, the likes of me.
For I am done with the world of man.
Spare me the glory so vain,
Make me not shrink in shame.
Speak not of the deeds of mine,
Worthy though they may be.
But just once, whisper my name into the dark night,
For into it I have gone.
Remember not, the likes of me.
Remember not, the likes of me.
Peace is upon me at last.

Note: This was written a long time ago. I just found it today among a bunch of old files.

Random rants

2007-01-11T19:42:00.000-07:00

This post is a disconnected pot-pourri of random thoughts I've jotted down over a period of time.

________

Thus, sword in hand, he mounted his majestic black Arabian and charged, eyes-aflame with defiance, with nary a care into the heat of a battle already lost. It was a sight that tore at the hearts of his brethren and yet he rode alone – none possessed the strength of conviction to throw away their lives as he had done. He had always walked alone, up in the clouds for he was an idealist.

A madman questions that which no one else does. A wise man answers those questions.

Let them see, and let them burn with anguish over their faults for it is they who long to become me but seek to lessen their sense of inadequacy by watching me fail! But I shall not fail, I shall not falter! For I seek not to prove them wrong but only to prove myself right.

What is politeness but respect feigned?

I am not strife. I am the eye of the storm – the calm at the heart of the chaos.

In order to feel alive, one must recognize that which separates the state of being alive from the state of not being. And the best place from which to see that is the thin line that separates the two states – skydive today!

Let him cast the first stone, who is ready to be shot.

A paradox is but a truth not yet understood.

Scientists now suggest that the passage of time is merely a quirk of human perception. Time itself does not flow. So, even though the clock suggests otherwise, I’m not really late to work.

Of all things breakable, silence is the only one that can never be broken quietly.

In the past, I’ve been wrongly accused of getting into fights. It was always someone else that started the fight. I merely ended it.

I do not spend much time pondering water under the bridge. I can not swim, so what’s the point!

To those who remark on my being “out of shape”, I say this – ROUND IS A SHAPE!

Existence is the only truth. All else is perception.

What I would love more than anything, is to comprehend infinity and nothingness.

Once I fell, a lifetime ago. And for a long time, I lay where I fell, unable to overcome the inertia, until I nearly became part of the very earth I lay upon. But I’ve risen now and I walk tall. I know that I will fall again, but I also know this – that I will get back up every single time.

Why not? That’s more reason than I’ll ever need.

I do not believe in destiny. It is an idea born of the folly of men unable to comprehend the enormity of the universe and the triviality of their own existence.

Life does not need a pre-ordained purpose to be sweet.

In nothing I trust. At least not until I’ve seen the data.

I’m not a Bohemian by choice. I am merely unable to accept anything not based upon sound reason but sadly that’s most things conventional.

People need to realize that money means nothing. And they need to write off my debts.

I seek to look upon the world with the wonder of a child and see it with the wisdom of an old man.

Have you heard of the seven deadly words? These are words that are censored from television and radio broadcasts. I ask you, is this not the silliest thing. If we really valued the innocence of children, we would stop doing such things as lying to one another and making war upon our brothers. Instead this censorship of mere words is pure sham.

jubilé argenté

2007-01-11T17:41:00.000-07:00

What is the reason for the existence of this blog? While walking home one particularly delightful evening enjoying the sunset and contemplating whatever a man of my infinite frivolousness would contemplate, I made an arbitrary decision that my writing skills, feeble and rusty as they had become, did not deserve to die a slow, silent death in the darkness. Thus was born into existence an idea that has since become Macnife speaks… crap.

By the time I’d dusted my pen and started writing my very first post, I realized that a blog would serve as more than just a writing workbook. It would provide me with a medium for much-needed periodic release of the junk that accumulates in my mind but more importantly, it would afford me a certain unique freedom – I could just dump my thoughts out there instead of writing them down in notebooks that I invariably lost track of, as I had previously done. While I would be able, through my blog, to share my ideas freely with anyone with the inclination and time to spare, the fulfillment I gained from writing would not be contingent to the existence of such beings. It was a win-win situation for me.

I started blogging with earnest vigor but at the back of my mind was always the apprehension that my inertia would overcome all other concerns after a few posts and my blog would be consigned, as was many an interest in the past, to a dark dusty corner of my mind that I refer to as the desert of dreams that could have been, never to be disturbed again. Thankfully, that has not come to pass, at least not yet. 25 posts in 6 months and a score of days… that is consistence uncharacteristic of me and I’m quite pleased with myself.

If you have read any of my previous posts, you may feel compelled to ask me what I think I have accomplished to feel so smug about - aside from speeding up the inexorable increase of the entropy of the universe and adding to the endless loads of crap that burden the Internet. Well, my intentions never reached beyond merely giving my thoughts form that their existence may be less ephemeral. It was also never my intention to choose my ideas for meaningful content from the point of view of the average reader. My goal was merely to write, which I have thus far accomplished and myself-willing, shall continue to do so. This blog is among several things, all of them rather recent, that represent the departure of my life from its previously consistent pattern - coulda, shoulda, woulda, didn't - and for that I am glad indeed!

PS. I do not know any French beyond the few words I've picked up from restaurant menus. The title was a translation from English, achieved through a most judicious use of the Altavista Babelfish program.

Food for thought

2007-01-09T16:14:00.000-07:00

Those who know me know my passion for food. To me food is sustenance for the soul* as much as it is for the body. Food is a sensation, an experience, fine art… yet it is, on a much more basic level, a necessity.

There are very few things that one can experience on so many levels as food. On the one hand, one eats to merely stave off hunger, as sustenance for the body. Yet, even at that level it can be a pleasure. Not much can compare to the pleasure of eating even a piece of stale, dry bread when one is on the verge of collapsing from hunger. At the other end of the spectrum is eating for the sheer experience. A finely prepared dish, even served in the most miniscule of portions, can inspire a sublime pleasure such as one feels when beholding a scene of breathtaking beauty or when listening to a melody divine.

Oft forgotten is the fact that food pleases more than just the palate. In fact, it is one of the few pleasures that can be experienced through every one of the senses… the sight of an artfully garnished pastry, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, the texture of a fresh strawberry, the delightful sound of a cookie cracking… each of these sensations inspires as much pleasure if not more than the actual taste of those foods upon one’s tongue. If anything, Pavlov showed this to be true, at some level, even of dogs.

This idea that food is a necessary pleasure forms the basis of my approach to both cooking and eating. Cooking to me is like composing music. One must blend the notes in just the right fashion, arrange them in just the right sequence in order to achieve aesthetic perfection. And just as with music, the variety in food is infinite. There is the simple shepherd’s melody played on a pipe and there is the fresh apple. There is Beethoven and there is crème brulèe. There is grunge metal and flaming hot szechuan cuisine. There is enough variety in food to more than match any other form of art for its diversity in intensity, complexity and every other attribute there is. Thus, I think of ingredients akin to elements of music – while vanilla may be compared to the soft sounds of the piano, chocolate may be compared to a cello’s soulful tones and a red chilly to the soaring notes of a guitar solo. A good dish, like a good piece of music, is one that achieves harmony between these diverse elements.

And as with music, my preference in food is rather catholic** with but one caveat – I shalt not kill***, i.e. I am vegetarian. Aside from that I’ll try anything – boiled seaweed, raw mushrooms, bitter gourd, habaneros – and there are very few things I do not like. The only things I hate are monotony, monotony and monotony. In this respect I am fortunate to have a mother whose culinary wizardry, any cordon bleu chef would be proud to possess. Add to that the wonderfully diverse culinary atmosphere of Madras and you realize that I grew up in a gourmet’s paradise.

It worried me in no small measure that I would be leaving all that behind when I moved to Salt Lake City. But the move here opened up new avenues for me to explore than it closed. And my constant need for culinary experimentation has resulted in numerous joyous hours spent in the kitchen and some very interesting results. Results that I have mostly enjoyed, speaking of which, I’m off to concoct my next plat du jour. Bon appetit!

____________________________________________________

* - No, I am NOT referring to that immortal thingy that transcends death and time that supposedly is the essence of a living being. I believe in no such thing. In fact, I will believe nothing until I see the data! I use the word ‘soul’ simply to refer to a certain aesthetic sense, a higher sense than one’s survival instinct.

** - I use the word catholic in the first sense of the word as listed below and in that sense alone. I have no affiliation with the Pope.

cath·o·lic / [kath-uh-lik, kath-lik]
–adjective
1. broad or wide-ranging in tastes, interests, or the like; having sympathies with all; broad-minded; liberal.
2. universal in extent; involving all; of interest to all.
3. pertaining to the whole Christian body or church.

*** - I shalt not kill, for the purpose of eating. By no means should you underestimate my lethality should you foul up my mood. ;)

Note:

This post has been a long time coming but somehow the words just wouldn’t flow until today.
As clichéd as the title is, I still like it.

Dull drivel

2007-01-04T02:12:00.000-07:00

It's been a while since I've written anything. And I feel a driving need to do so now. I need the release... all this pent up energy needs to come out in a sustained slow burn or a dramatic supernova! Burn? Supernova? What the heck am I talking about? I haven't the foggiest but I have a feeling I'm going to like it.

For starters the past couple of weeks have been a bit of a blur. A quicksand like monotony that leaves one without enough energy to do anything to break it. Work has not been the problem... quite to the contrary it's what has kept me going. But what happens when I’m not working? Nothing! I feel heavy… a feeling that reminds me of a hot, humid tropical afternoon, the kind when it feels like the sky itself is weighing down upon your shoulders. Part of the problem is that my body clock has gone AWOL… I believe it is on vacation somewhere a few time zones away while I’m still here in SLC! Who in heaven’s name gave my body clock permission to leave me? Sure as hell wasn’t me. And how does it feel? It feels like I’ve been channel-surfing through my days and catching nothing but the same dumb ads on every channel! That’s a little messed up. But not nearly as messed up as insomnia! That, my friend, is a whole different ball game.

That’s right, insomnia! Imagine waking up drenched in sweat in the middle of the night only to realize that you’re not yet in bed and your eyes shut off no more than ten minutes ago. Imagine lying awake in bed, staring at the ceiling until suddenly it’s no more than a few inches from your face. Imagine staring into the pages of a book until you start seeing ants run up and down the spaces between the words. Imagine looking at the clock one moment to see the hands at 1 am and to turn around and looking at it after a few minutes later to see the hands at 5:30am… you wonder where the hours went but you do remember every song you listened to. And when sleep does come at some ungodly hour, it brings no relief. Instead it brings dreams… visions of a gray world set to a background score that is something akin to the sounds made by a ceiling fan squeaking for some grease as it rotates at that odd pace that is neither slow nor fast but is annoying in the extreme. It makes you want to lash out and tear up everything in sight. Only, you can’t move… you can’t even shut your ears. Scary thought, huh?

If you still don’t understand what I’m talking about, picture getting stuck on a long bus ride next to a bigoted, narrow-minded, conservative know-it-all who acts so “nice” it makes you want to gag. Yes, you know the kind… the kind that can’t stop telling you how right they are and how wrong you are… in the politest terms of course. And all this after they’ve known you for all of 3 minutes. The conversation feels like something between a visit to the dentist to get a tooth pulled and sitting in a car without air-conditioning on a sultry summer afternoon, staring at the barren landscape as you wait for an endless cargo train to roll by at an annoyingly slow pace. By the time you get off that bus, you’ve lived a lifetime in purgatory… every neuron in your brain screams for a violent release. People like this remind me of the immense black cloud of mosquitoes that circles above your head just after the rains… they don’t attack you all at once but instead adopt a spirit-crushing pattern of random bites. If only you had a flamethrower.

Speaking of spirits being crushed, picture trying to accomplish the most trivial of tasks in a bureaucraZy – running from pillar to post until you fall to your knees screaming and weeping in defeat.

Now why have you been picturing all this depressing and disturbing imagery? Why, for my entertainment of course! All that I’m saying is that you don’t know dull until you can tell apart 256 shades of gray. Now that I have transferred my entire load to you, my dear reader, I shall retire to bed. Oh sweet joy, my body clock has skipped back a couple of time zones. MISSION ACCOMPLISHED!

Science: the human aspect

2006-11-22T21:38:00.000-07:00

Science... we have all been taught it in some form and in some measure. Indeed, we have all jumped through those hoops – Newton's laws of motion, the Lomonosov-Lavoisier law of conservation of mass, Darwin's theory of natural selection. But these are merely the most basic of concepts, and hence inherently simple. Are they really?

It is true that some of these concepts form the very foundations of our knowledge while others have been replaced by newer thinking. But what do we, who are so privileged to be born into such a wealth of knowledge, know of the men on whose shoulders we stand?

Behind every concept, every fact we learn, stands a man or woman who had the temerity to question that which no one else did, the eye to see that which no one else did, the clarity of thought to understand that which befuddled their peers and the steel of will to stand up to the arrogance, such as can only stem from ignorance.

Before we can even begin to comprehend the magnitude of their achievements, we must question the very nature of their work. To say that those men and women sought to learn the truth, to expand knowledge, we must first ask ourselves what we mean by “knowledge”. What does it mean to “know”?

Fact is something we know is true... or is it? It is an idea we arrive at by interpreting observations that we make... answers we attain for the questions we ask. But the “facts” that we ascertain are limited by our own shortcomings – in the questions we are able to ask, in our powers of observation and above all in the insight we possess, with which we draw our conclusions.

Thus, we must understand that “fact” is not that which we are able to prove the correctness of but rather that which we are unable to prove the incorrectness of. An accepted scientific theory is merely an idea that can not be proven incorrect by the existing level of understanding.

People in the middle ages “knew” that the earth was flat just as we know today that matter is composed of atoms. By not being taught of the nature of knowledge, we are prone to foolishly laugh at our predecessors for what we perceive as their follies. But we ourselves would be the fools to do so. What we must realize is that each invention, each discovery was made by someone who challenged not merely the beliefs but the very “knowledge” of their times. Such are not men of an everyday sort.

These were men who experienced the world in all its brilliant detail. They looked upon it with the wonder of a child. They refused to allow themselves to become numb to the little things, caught up in the maelstrom of mundane issues that compose the average person’s life. And when they saw something that intrigued them, they questioned the nature of it and pursued the answers to those questions with relentless vigor.

Asking questions is merely the first step of a long journey. To answer them, one must make observations about the subject of one’s inquiry. This, simple as it may seem, is a problem, the solution to which is often the product of considerable brilliance, ingenuity and patience. To make an observation, one must isolate that which one wishes to observe – isolate it from the tangle that seems to be the unifying character of reality itself. Once that is accomplished, the event under study must be transduced into one that is perceptible to our limited senses. These twin problems were solved by the great men of science through the design of experiments. Therefore we must devote as much attention to the experiments that resulted in great findings as we do to the findings themselves.

Observations alone do little to push back the boundaries of knowledge. They must be churned in the mills of powerful minds, unfettered by prejudice, before they may be forged into insights into the very workings of reality itself.

And all too often such discoveries fly in the face of years of dogma, which does little to endear their proponents to the upholders of convention. True, every new idea must be tempered by criticism to weed out the kinks but that often becomes the pretext under which new ideas and the men behind them are condemned and ostracized. The abuse that one is subjected to for voicing new ideas ranges from being decried as a fool by society in the mildest cases to being stoned to death as some great thinkers were. It is a testament to the courage and the strength of will of these great men that their ideas survived the persecutions that sometimes they themselves did not.

Not only is it gravely wrong to speak of their work without speaking of them but it is foolish to ignore the many lessons we may learn from their lives. It is therefore my opinion that science must be taught in its entirety with due consideration to the human element that underlies it – not just as disembodied facts and figures. After all, history is not made by kings alone!

Outfoxed

2006-10-29T21:40:00.000-07:00

I watched Outfoxed today. It's a documentary made in 2004 about Rupert Murdoch's Fox News Network and its utter lack of neutrality. It is an unconscionable travesty that they advertise themselves with the slogan 'fair and balanced' - nothing could be further from the truth! They are nothing short of lackeys of right-wing political interests who unabashedly toe the party line and trample the truth into the ground. Have they no respect for democracy, fairness and the public interest? Is basic decency too much to demand of them?

For more info on Outfoxed, visit http://www.outfoxed.org/

This is a problem that is not peculiar to this one news network. Across the board, we are watching journalism subverted by sensationalism and propaganda. The fourth estate is one of the vital pillars on which democracy stands. Do not stand by and watch it ruined by shallow people. Please watch this documentary. It is a clarion call to all those who stand on the side of fairness and democracy.

Today, the internet is the biggest ray of hope for those who fight to preserve journalism. It costs nothing to disseminate ideas through this medium and it is possible for anybody and everybody to reach a wide audience. The power of money and political clout don't count for much in the cyber world. But all is not well here - there is another battle that looms just beyond the horizon, the one to preserve net neutrality.

For more info on net neutrality, visit the following websites:

http://www.savetheinternet.com/

http://www.google.com/help/netneutrality.html

Rage

2006-10-25T17:15:00.000-06:00

Note: This post is NOT going to make for pleasurable reading, not by any stretch of the imagination. These are words that have refused to flow from my pen for a long time now. This dull wintry evening, for a reason I know nothing of, they have found their release, and I mine. And I am glad of it, for I carry my pen lighter now. Is this fact or fiction? Does it matter?

To those of you who do venture beyond this point, I ask this much of you. Do not judge me a negative person, upon reading the initial paragraphs. Read on to the end.

_______________________________________________________

Have you ever felt rage? I do not refer to the sort of anger that makes you want to hurl curses or even blows at someone. No sir! I speak of the primal rage that you feel coursing through your very veins - a feeling that makes you want to END whomsoever is the object of it... right then... right there... with your bare hands. When I speak of ending someone, I don't mean just killing him... you want to rub him out of existence... even from the memories of people... make it like he never existed... wipe the slate clean! That is the sort of rage that in no time drags you across that invisible line which separates the sane from the insane. Mistake it not for the silly madness that makes you crave ice cream on a snowy December evening. This is the sort of madness that takes prisoner your senses and sensibilities before you even know it. It is a rage that derives from deep-rooted hate - hate that slowly burns you up as it burns within you... the sort that leaves you nothing but a hollow husk, numb to all joy.

Forgiveness is divine... but alas, I'm no God! When someone wrongs you so badly as to make you comprehend the true nature of hate, they have killed your innocence - they have killed a part of you. Forgiveness is not an option. However, vengeance doesn't accomplish much either. True, it does grant you an immediate satisfaction but, all too soon you are left with a void that is impossible to fill. What's worse is that the hate and rage make you oblivious to pain - both your own and that of the ones you love - but just long enough to let you commit acts that leave you with the ever-lasting bitterness of regret.

I have felt that hate, that rage and yet I have managed to pull myself out of that downward spiral. So what you may ask was my solution? Amnesia... dumb bleeding amnesia... not the clinical kind, but the self-induced variety that is brought on by sheer force of will. It takes a lot to hold on to your senses while your body shakes from the force of your anger. But in the end, it's worth it to rediscover your lost smile. His life is not worth living, he who can not recall the sound of his own laughter. I can and I do - and every time I do, I smile to myself, relieved - knowing that none of this may have ever come to pass.

I do not have it in me to forgive nor do I even wish to be able to do so. But I can be blissfully absent-minded when I choose to be. There are doors in my mind that have been locked, never to be opened again. The cobwebs of time have already begun to obscure them and soon they will be lost to oblivion. And I live my life now with a passion and vigor known only to one who has wished death. For, no possession is cherished so sweetly, as one lost and regained.

And I leave you now with words from Friedrich Nietzsche: "He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you."

PS. I couldn't help myself this incongruously silly digression but all this perhaps explains why my favorite superhero is Batman - his life a hollow existence, defined by the very vengeance that drives him.

Thus spake Nietzsche

2006-10-23T15:04:00.000-06:00

Here are a few quotes from Friedrich Nietzsche that I recently came across:

Insanity in individuals is something rare - but in groups, parties, nations and epochs, it is the rule.
The individual has always had to struggle to keep from being overwhelmed by the tribe. If you try it, you will be lonely often, and sometimes frightened. But no price is too high to pay for the privilege of owning yourself.
A thinker sees his own actions as experiments and questions--as attempts to find out something. Success and failure are for him answers above all.
Out of life's school of war: What does not destroy me, makes me stronger.
Is man merely a mistake of God's? Or God merely a mistake of man's?
It is nobler to declare oneself wrong than to insist on being right - especially when one is right.

Another day in the life

2006-09-28T14:42:00.000-06:00

Note: Text inside square brackets denotes actual physical actions and my take on stuff is demarcated by paranthesis. The rest of the text is what goes on inside my head.

[Ta-na-na Na-na-na Na-Na-Naa... alarm goes off]... who's making these horrible eardrum-busting, eyeball-bleeding sounds at this ungodly hour... wait a bleedin' minute... I know this sound and it means it is no longer some ungodly hour... alarm on my mobile phone. Where is it? That's right, at the foot of my bed. [I turn it off]... it's only the first of 3 alarms... I can sleep till the third one goes off. Argghhh, that annoying cock crows again from across the room... my second alarm... it's already 5 minutes since the first one went off?? Turn it off and lay down again... this time I'll be woken up by pleasant music... I'll get some more shuteye before that and I'll feel better about waking up.

Comfortably numb...what a way to start the day (rhyme entirely unintended)... why don't I lie in bed and listen to the whole song? Western blot... incubation... class? ... 8:58 TRAX? ... shower... breakfast? ... are there any bagels left? Will there be time to dry my hair after I shower? Damn! Get up!

[I jump out of bed... look at the clock that was howling like a banshee a few minutes ago... turn towards the laptop.] No... there's no time for this... [I go through my morning ablutions.] (This marks the completion of the process of my waking up... once I'm through this I won't be able to sleep until the wee hours of the next morning.) [I shower... rummage through my wardrobe as I dry my 'flowing black mane' (which is still a tangled mass of bad hair at this point) and pick a decent (at least I think so) set of clothing] Did I wear these yesterday? Maybe the day before? What the hell, there's no time to look for something else. Must make that next TRAX. [As I put on my clothes, I also pick my laptop. Still, drying my hair. If time permits, I swing by the kitchen for a cup of milk or juice and a bagel. Tie my hair up in a neat pony. I walk/run to the TRAX stop.]

[Once I get to the lab, my day pretty much consists of coffee, work, looking at my reef tank (my own lil' vacation in a box), more coffee, work, music, some more coffee, work, maybe some food... you get the idea.]

(Evenings are a kaleidoscope of movies, music, food (cooking and eating) and a spot of reading. By the time my evening ends, the first hours of the next day are already upon me and the next day begins.)

Mark "Rent-boy" Renton: [narrating] "Choose Life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol, and dental insurance. Choose fixed interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisurewear and matching luggage. Choose a three-piece suit on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on Sunday night. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pissing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked up brats you spawned to replace yourselves. Choose your future. Choose life... But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life. I chose somethin' else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you've got heroin?"

But who needs mind-numbing reasons or an-escape-from-reality-reserved-for-pathetic-losers (heroin) when you can have the exctiting and much healthier life of a graduate student? Yes, a grad student's life... a psychedelic cocktail of intellectual peregrinations(research), penury, independence, procrastination... a drab gray existence punctuated by eclectic animated interludes in brillitant colour. Yes, my life's a trip and I love it!

Know you cussword

2006-09-27T12:26:00.000-06:00

Read this and be enlightened:
http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=fuck

What makes me me?

2006-09-27T12:05:00.000-06:00

I know this is rather crappy but I just felt like writing this...so read on and suffer!

10 things I love:

To wake up to the intoxicating sound of Pink Floyd or Oasis on a rainy Sunday morning and do nothing all day. Or to drift off to sleep listening to heavy metal (rather counterintuitive to most, but it can be an extremely calming influence).
A cup of strong coffee followed up with a piece of smooth dark chocolate.
The feel of the pages in a new book and the smell of old leather-bound volumes.
The way cool water tastes when I am really thirsty.
A hot bath at the end of a rough day (preferably with music playing).
That sudden spark of inspiration that leads you to the (often simple) solution to a mind-numbing problem.
Sitting down to a hot self-cooked meal.
That well timed PJ (for the uninitiated, if indeed such people do exist, PJ stands for a poor joke and not pajamas!) that makes everyone outwardly cry out in agony while they secretly laugh over it.
Watching people on a bus/train while listening to music - like a silent movie, only better.
Writing with a pencil.

10 things I hate:

Governmental control in everyday life and curtailment of liberty.
Bad music and speakers that jar.
Waiting for the next issue of a comic book to read the ending to a great story.
Dessert that is too sweet.
Sand sticking to my feet and especially in between my toes (yup, you guessed it...I NEVER step into the water when I'm at the beach.).
Siting in the front row in classes.
Dealing with banks and managing finances.
Wet shoes.
Dressing formally.
Tying up my shoelaces.

The Macnife Point of View

2006-09-15T16:17:00.000-06:00

It's here. I know you've all been waiting for this. So go visit my new photoblog at http://macnifepointofview.blogspot.com/ and rejoice!

My life, my loves

2006-09-10T02:27:00.000-06:00

Disclaimer: I am responsible for any mental trauma caused by the reading of this crap but there's jack you can do about it. I would blame it squarely on the late hour and the film The Big Lebowski, which I watched just prior to writing this.

_____________________________________________________

Apart from the noble purpose of seeking enlightenment and such, my existence is driven my love of 3 things: toys, thrills and travel and my greatest passion of all: FOOD!

Let’s save the 3T’s for some other time and go straight to the good part. Food… of all the millions of tastes and flavors, let me just bring up 3. Why 3? Because, 3 is a prime number…not just any prime number but the first lucky prime. Three is symbolic… the holy trinity (the Hindu trinity of Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva…well, also Christianity’s Father, Son and Holy Spirit), the 3 fundamental particles, the 3 primary colors, ancient Rome’s triumvirate, the 3 musketeers…wait a bloody second…what the heck am I blathering about? Digressions are sometimes unavoidable, but this one is just too much. Am I digressing again by talking about a digression? Wow! (Pure genius, I know!).

Well, where was I? Ah, the 3 flavors: chocolate, coffee and chillies. What is it with me and groups of three items starting with the same letter of the alphabet? I don’t know. There I go blathering off again.

Chocolate…mmm…chocolate…it exists, therefore I do. I love chocolate for the chocolate and not for the sugar, i.e. the more bitter, the better. Legend has it that the Aztecs and Mayans, who discovered chocolate (the greatest contribution to humanity…ever!), reserved it for their royalty (I’d say those folk had it better than the Greek gods with their ambrosia!) and commoners found stealing chocolate were put to the death. As much as I abhor violence, between me and my chocolate is a bad place to be.

Coffee. Being a full-blooded south Indian, it is only natural that I love coffee. However, I go beyond quintessential cup of filter coffee and embrace coffee in all shapes and forms save for that weird stuff they brew in the Philippines from cat droppings. This is not one of my quirky jokes… I kid you not. I do have one criterion – coffee is meant to be strong. Not strong as in strong enough for you to smell the caffeine but strong as in strong enough for a cup to wake up a sleeping elephant. Bring on the caffeine. (All godless decaf drinkers will have their livers ‘roasted’ in hell!* - roasted, coffee…get it?) I divide my days in two – BC (before coffee) (that’s when I’m pretty much wasted or irritable (read homicidal) or both) and AC (after coffee).

Chillies…yes, chillies. Why chillies, you might ask. Ears turning a slight shade of red, sweat beading on the brow, watery eyes, a drippy nose, lips on fire, lack of any sensation whatsoever on the tongue… those who know these sensations well, know the pleasure that follows it. It’s true…chillies cause the body to release endorphins. An acquired taste most definitely, but one with more depth than most realize. Those who get past the initial burn recognize the many shades of heat… from the tongue tip burn of green chillies to the sharp point of heat traveling through one’s alimentary canal characteristic of habaneros.

These are more than just my favorite tastes…they are my passions. Let me put it this way. If I were to be faced with imminent death, I imagine memories of my life would come flooding (cliché, I know). But not all those memories would be visual, they would be disconnected emotions, smells…TASTES - and my 3C’s would definitely top the list.

PS. I guess this is what happens when I try to write something in a lighter vein.

PPS. * - I stole that one from the ever-so-funny former dis-Information Minister of Iraq, Mohammed Saeed al Sahaf. He said, “God will roast the stomachs of infidels in hell at the hands of Iraqis.” Here’s the part I don’t get. Does he mean to say that all Iraqis by default go to hell? Or is/was there an elite group of Iraqis handpicked by Saddam to work the ‘hell detail’?

Note

2006-08-23T14:07:00.000-06:00

The last few posts have all been on related issues and have been of a quite serious nature. So as to not bore to death the few readers I have (I think there are a few), I'll try to make the next one completely different from these on both those counts.

"They"

2006-08-23T12:46:00.000-06:00

I guess shifting blame and shirking responsibilities comes naturally to all of us. We're so good at it that even we don't catch ourselves doing it. There are some commonly used expressions that I wish to discuss in this context.

The first two are expressions that refer to those who are the cause of all of the world's misery - 'THEY' or 'PEOPLE'. The mysterious 'THEY' are everywhere and at the root of every problem but are surprisingly invisible to us, or so it would seem. We are quick to blame everything from bad roads to global warming on 'THEIR' apathy. Yet if any of us should be asked to name 'THEM', we'd be hard pressed for answers. The fact of the matter is that 'THEY' is a subconscious euphemism for 'WE'. It's a means of dissociating ourselves from wrongs and therefore from the responsibility of righting those wrongs.

Another commonly misused expression is "in the good old days". Truth is there were never better or worse times. In the larger context of human history, the world has always been just as bright/dark a place as it is today. Granted that there were fluctuations now and then but those are merely temporally localized events...a product of the randomness that characterizes the universe (of course, I'm glad to have skipped the historical times of the world wars and other such world-shaping disasters). However we use phrases such as "in those days" to imply that our predecessors lived in a better time than ours and hence we have a tougher prospect on our hands when it comes to making changes. Another excuse for our laziness!

In fact, we've become so comfortable within our myopic cocoon that should one of us be willing to try and change things, we ridicule him as a fool and an idealist.

Welfare state

2006-08-22T12:26:00.000-06:00

A friend of mine sent me this story about a successful corn farmer who would share his seeds with his neighbours even though they were his competitors at the annual agricultural contest. When asked why helped his neighbours, he replied that it was important for his neighbours to grow good corn so that his crop would be cross-pollinated with good pollen. A simple allegory with deep implications.

This simple allegory reminded me of debates with my friends over the kind of economy that is preferrable, especially in a developing country. I am of the opinion that it's better to have high taxes that pay for welfare measures for the people (such as free education for everyone, subsidized medical care etc).

There are those who feel they'd rather the government left things alone and didn't tax people much. In my mind, such a model would only result in continued widening of the gap between rich and poor. The consequences of such a disparity between classes can only be violence and unrest. These would in turn lead to mass histeria - the people will willingly allow themselves to be controlled, desperate for security or at least an illusion of it... even at the cost of their lierties. Attempts to quell the violence without alleviating the misery that spring is it will only result in its perpetuation. End result: FASCIST POLICE STATE or ANARCHY - either way, it will ultimately lead to a downward spiral. This is a point I've alreay made in my previous post - Cycle of Violence.

Only by sharing the fruits of development equally among all levels of the socio-economic spectrum can equality be attained. Growth will be sustainable only if everybody benefits from it equally. To achieve this, taxation is a viable and ultimately fair means of redistributing wealth. Ultimately everyone has to be happy for anyone to be happy. There will always be the dissatisfied among us, but we can at least eliminate the desperate. We must remember, great deeds are accomplished when mortals strive for ideals.

PS. I am, by no stretch of imagination, an alarmist. There are things that we should be concerned about and our concern must result in action, in change. There is no point in getting scared and running around flapping.

PPS. I'm no commie either. I'm all for supporting individual achievement and to hell with state ownership...nobody's comin near my stuff...ever! All I'm saying is that the spirit of philanthropy in us (those without it must change, if at least for selfish reasons) must be reflected in the system of our economy.

Cycle of violence

2006-08-11T11:58:00.000-06:00

With all the talk of fundamentalist threats and conspiracy theories in the air right now, terrorism is on everyone's mind...well almost everyone. But why is terrorism such a big problem in today’s world? How do we find a solution? Here's my take on the issue.

Violence is inherent in nature and malice and covetousness have been the cause of untold bloodshed since the dawn of man. Therein lies the root of the matter. Despite all the talk of equality, it's in human nature to crave the opposite. On the one hand each one of us wants to 'be better' than others, have more than others. On the other, we crave larger-than-life figures to follow, heroes and leaders - so that we may avoid the burden of searching for a vision, a purpose in life. This very laziness to seek the truth is also the why people choose a myopic view of life and limit their goals to success as defined by the norms of a material society - fame, fortune, whatever. So people, out of their moral laziness, resign themselves to lesser pursuits and become consumed by the trappings of their chosen paths - be it religion, money, power. Once trapped by such pursuits, people use the very limitations of their vision to justify immoral acts.

In the context of today's world, there are the economically strong, the worshippers of Mammon, who care only about enriching their coffers and insulate themselves from the consequences of their actions through their elitism. The consequence that such 'men' remain blissfully ignorant of is the economically weak majority being deprived of basic human needs and rights. The oppressed are pushed to a point where they are so bereft of dignity that they are more than willing to believe in any cause which offers that little hint of hope. For many, holding on to such hopes is the only way to survive through hard times. Often, such people are captivated by false messiahs who need do no more than point their finger and give people a target, real or imagined, to blame their troubles on. Instead of helping people work towards solving their problems, these leaders merely perpetuate the pointless venting of anger through violence and hatred. Violent crimes, perpetrated by desperate men, in the name of their beliefs, spread fear that drives the very machinery of oppression which lies at the root of the problem. 'Terrorists' and their like merely provide a pretext for the greedy and power-hungry to retain their grip on people and continue sucking the sap out of society.

Thus we are left with a vicious circle of greed, desperation, lies, fear and violence that perpetuates itself by feeding on innocent lives. Such a society can not be sustained indefinitely. Unless we recognize the root of the issue and right the fundamental wrongs, a lasting peace can not be achieved.

Galt's ire

2006-07-31T19:11:00.000-06:00

Why is society so fond of mediocrity? Why has excellence become a curse? Not only are the excellent few forced to carry the burden of the world’s mediocrity, but they are judged by that very mediocre majority who possess no qualification save their number. Why must everyone be deemed deserving of the same fruits regardless of merit, all in the name of equality?

How did we get here? Blame the weak who lack confidence in their deeds…who crave to approval of the masses to reassure themselves of their own worth.

By perpetuating this injustice, we are driving ourselves ever closer to extinction. When the end is upon us, then the mediocre shall be weighed upon evolution’s unbiased scales and found wanting. The Galt in me shall only then find peace, at least some measure of it.

Move over Bono!

2006-07-29T09:46:00.000-06:00

Nostalgia

2006-07-28T10:49:00.000-06:00

Some call it Madras, some Chennai. To me, it's home. Every time I think of it, I'm flooded with memories good and bad. The first things I noticed upon moving to Madras were the heat, the terrible water, the stench of the Kuvam and the impolite (at first look) people and they did not do much to endear the city to me. But as time passed, the place just grew on me. Having spent nearly a year away from home, I am surprised by how vivid the memories still are. So, permit me to get nostalgic for a moment - these are some of the things that come to mind when I think of Madras.

'Working' (vernacular for being engaged in a pointless pursuit) on my computer (aka my pride and joy) in my room with its walls adorned with posters of superheroes. Being suddenly albeit pleasantly jolted back to reality by the delicious aromas emanating from the kitchen and by the sound of my mom's voice sneaking in from the outside world past the wall of heavy metal music.
The sound of the waves at Bessy/Marina beach, the salty air blowing through my hair with the taste of hot grilled corn, sundal or bajji tickling my tongue - be it in the company of friends or in solitude (the kind you experience when you are a silent spectator to the chaotic mass of humanity that surrounds you).
Speeding on my Honda Activa on Mount Road - weaving through the wall of traffic, trying to run away from the oppressive heat or enjoying the quietness of the wee hours. Trying not to end up having to grease the pockets of our beloved "uncles" in uniform.
Spending a lazy afternoon at home with a bunch of friends and watching movies, listening to music, doing silly things (the kind you do to reassure yourself that you're still only 5 years old) until we realized that the afternoon had stretched far into the night and into the next dawn.
Eating out... trying to decide on one from an endless list of options, each as good as the next.

-The countless street food stalls - podi dosai at T.Nagar's Kaiyendhi Bhavan (our saviour when we were hit by those late night hunger pangs) or roti-channa at the little hole in the wall in Saidapet - sitting on the platform hogging till we could walk no more

- Small & cheap restaurants (who could forget the veg biryani at Delux or the rava dosa at Mylai Karpagambal mess). It would be a sin not to mention the all-you-can-eat buffet at Dhaba Express (yes, the one on Cenotaph Road).

- Coffee pubs a la Barista where we'd chat for hours over a cup of friazzo.

- Pizza joints - only to be considered when there's an all-you-can-eat offer going (I wonder if our visits had anything to do with these offers being closed down the very next day...every time ;) )

- Chaat shops ranging from Gangotree and Shree Mithai to the little places in Saukarpet - tastes to die or even kill for.

- And of course the proper restaurants - Wang's Kitchen, Eden... infinite options to satisfy every palate. (I take this chance to pay tribute to my hero, Mr.Mahadevan...praise him for all his amazing restaurants that introduced many of us to diverse cuisines never before heard of in Madras.)

In the interest of brevity (chuckle!), I choose to elaborate no more on the topic of food in Madras. It would suffice to say that Madras is a foodie's paradise.

Watching the sky lit up in bright hues on the night of Deepavali. And agonizing over all the pollution the day after.
Feeling a tide of emotions - joy, sorrow, hope, despair, dreams and aspirations, love & hate - all come rushing back at once when I step into the PSBB KK Nagar campus.
Rebellion welling up deep within at the very thought of Sri Venkateswara College of Engineering, in particular the department of Chemical Engineering - the fascist head of the department Dr.P.V.R.Iyer a man with limitations in every respect save his arrogance. Bun aka R.Parthiban, a man/thing with a vindictive streak as big as his shapeless physical being - a monument to mediocrity.
Drinking tea from a tiny cup shared among 3 or more people at the pathetic excuse for a canteen at SVCE. Bunking college, jumping the fence and getting home via diverse modes of transport often under dubious conditions of safety (the milk van, the tractor and the brick lorry) when unable to secure passage on one of those moffusil buses stuffed to twice its capacity.
Sipping sherbet soda or sugarcane juice at that little corner shop on a hot summer afternoon.
Visiting a friend's house and watching their parents instructing them to follow my example (yes, parents can be THAT myopic!).
Headbanging till we dropped at gigs at the Unwind center or the IIT-OAT.
Listening to friends jam.
Getting together with friends to prepare for an exam and ending up having a lot of fun while still managing to accomplish the goal (a much watered down version of the initially stated one).
Playing snooker/pool with friends and trying to explain to parents the smell of tobacco smoke permeating one's clothes.
Watching a movie (often a night show) at one of many cinema halls (including the one and only Sathyam Cinemas), recalling movies that we'd watched sitting in various seats (yes, we watched a lot of movies...yes we were that jobless).
Celebrating birthdays - mine or a friend's - just another reason to party, really.

Looking back at all those fun years, one thing stands out. Madras is a great place. But alas, he was right who said "The wine doth taste sweeter and the moon doth shine brighter in the company of friends." So I am too close to the truth for my own comfort when I call those the good old days.

Puppet on a string?

2006-07-28T10:01:00.000-06:00

Boredom

2006-07-24T23:22:00.000-06:00

Why do we get bored? Because we have nothing to do? Come to think of it, that is rarely the case. Truth is, the absence of choice is a circumstance that is very very rare (the nerds among you will recognize this one from the pool of issue topics for the GRE). Anyway, it all boils down to the fact that we get bored not because we have nothing to do with our time, but lack the will and energy to do the things we can. One thing you can do when extremely bored and tired as I am now is blog... blog about boredom (pure genius...I know!).

Zappa on Censorship

2006-07-22T16:32:00.000-06:00

On the issue of freedom of expression and censorship... censorship to me is the first step in a cascade of control that finally leads to fascism. This is what Frank Zappa had to say about the issue.

Part 1: http://www.ifilm.com/ifilmdetail/2658805

Part 2: http://www.ifilm.com/ifilmdetail/2664570

Too bad he had to die... the world today needs people like him more than ever. It's important that a small "educated" minority (read anal-retentives in positions of power) stops dictating to the vast majority... it's time that these "elite" folk stop thinking of the average Joe as an idiot. Let the PEOPLE choose for themselves... funny, I thought we live in a democracy!

FREEDOM TO ALL!

Just what are we doing to our world?

2006-07-22T13:29:00.000-06:00

Crap for the day

2006-07-22T13:03:00.000-06:00

Reality is all about contradictions coexisting in harmony. What the heck does that mean? If we knew the answer to that we wouldn't be fighting wars, would we?

Of course, I have no illusions about a day in the future when truth will dawn on all humanity... our story has no happily ever after. The only end is extinction. That is an immutable truth for a multitude of reasons which shall be elucidated in future posts. So, why bother then, you may ask? There is still hope that we may delay the inevitable and may be even make a graceful exit. Alas, once again I may be getting carried away by hope... humanity's greatest fault or redeeming virtue?? That being unknown, I shall cling to my hopes and plod on.

PS. To those of you who call me a pessimist, I say this. I'm but an optimist with experience.

PPS. As for those who ask, just who I am to make such statements, I say this. I am a nobody and I know that. Thus, I'm perfectly placed to comment on everybody and everything. ;)

Poppin my bloggin' cherry!

2006-07-21T15:47:00.000-06:00

This post marks the dawn of a new era! Well, not quite... what it does mark though is an increase in the amount of useless crap that sullies the so called information superhighway. It was just another typical weekday afternoon. I was in my office/lab...brain cooked from the heat and bouncing around crazy conclusions drawn from ambiguous data. A friend showed me a blog - after several minutes of excruciating pain caused by reading some of the posts, it suddenly dawned on me. What a brilliant source of sadistic pleasure a blog is! I too shall blog and share my own brand of pain (which I like to call my sense of humour) with the rest of humanity (at least the fraction of it that is wired to the internet). This is it...no one is safe any more. Abandon all hope, ye who stumble onto my blog...for unfathomable PJ's, bad poetry and wacky thoughts await thee! As for the ones who walked in knowingly, you deserve all that shall befall you! Happy reading, fellow jobless organic bipeds (supposedly equipped with a sixth sense!??).