Read A Book Daily...

I'm a condemned person for some time now. I'm about to jump off a precipice and find out whether all the effort I've put into designing and building my wings is going to work, because now I have to fly...

But there's still time to jump off that precipice. I have to find a landowner who's willing to let me use his property for my take-off.

And in the meanwhile I've to wait. So what do I do?

I read a book daily.

I've harboured this idea for a long time - I want my own library. A huge cupboard full of books, all neatly categorized, covered with good newspaper to protect the delicate covers from scratches and brutal treatment, and looking beautiful and inviting. I go crazy every time I go to a bookstore. I can't resist the temptation to buy just one more book, one more beautiful piece of writing, and my heart breaks every time I see the prices. I often soothe that wound by buying a Penguin classic that I don't already have - it's a bargain, seriously. You get a nice classic for just around one hundred rupees, and it's a good book to add to the collection. Penguin has its own taste in selecting books to publish, and it's taste matches with my own, and the best part is, my taste isn't confined to just one type of literature.

And now there's a new form of entertainment. It's called thin-slicing, the concept for which you should thank this young man. You get to read the first chapter of a book totally free, and from that, you must thin-slice and make out whether you'd like to buy the book or not. It's a great way to find out about books. And it makes for great recreation too.

Heh heh, you can let your imagination soar about the chapters you read too.

I've decided to read a book daily. Not just the actual paper that I can clasp in my hands, hold up to my face and smell deeply, write my name on and declare my ownership of, but also a trial run for all these new books by all these various authors, which I might probably not even see in my local bookstore.

It's probably also good to have a way to evaluate the books without the danger of falling to the temptation to buy them, which is likely to happen in an actual bookstore.

I can't help it, the atmosphere is just too tempting!

Colourblind

"Don't try to understand bureaucratic logic. Trust me, you don't want to," said my wise friend Marcus Licinius Crassus. He told me the following story.

A steel company in a small central-eastern state in my country, once wished to set up mining operations there. They penned a letter and sent it to the Department of Administrative Affairs to seek the required permissions. The Department flipped the moment they received the letter. Reason? It was in green ink.

"Oh no, our department correspondence and work is carried out only in red and black ink," said they, and so the forwarded the application for a second opinion to the Ministry of Interior Affairs. And those guys flipped out too. Reason? "Green ink is used only by the top guys in the military."

So they forwarded the application to the Ministry of Defence. And again, those guys flipped out! Reason? "This is nothing to do with us or our department! It must go back where it came from!"

And so the application found it's way back, over the course of eight months, back to the Ministry of Interior Affairs, which sent it back to the Department of Administrative Affairs, which sent it back to the steel company, stating that the application needed to be in line with the law passed two months back, stating that all applications and forms must henceforth always be penned in blue or black ink.

I don't know about the steel company, but Reynolds, Add and Cello must have made a fortune in blue and black ink since then.

Warning: True story. Oops, you already read it. :D

Viva la Project!

What have you done in this project?
Nothing, really.

Why do we need hybrid systems?
Environment friendly, you big bad smoking chimney!

Why do we combine solar power with wind power in a hybrid system, of all the renewable sources we can use?
Reminds me of the beach. Soak in the sun, with a cool breeze flowing... Gets me started, man!

What have you done in one year?
Watched movies, went on a trip, drank chai, got drunk, ate lots of nice food, celebrated my birthday, what more do you want to know, you sneak!

What is the efficiency of solar system/wind system?
Should be good, else we wouldn't use it.

What have you actually simulated?
How the thing works, you doof. Why not just read the damn report?

Why have you used voltage signals in the simulation, when a power system deals with load?
Coz that's what's possible in the goddamn software! Man, talk about being a prof...

Why have you chosen LabVIEW instead of Matlab?
Coz that's what my guide told me to do. Plus, it has a nice view... isn't that what it's supposed to be? Lab-View?

What are the voltage ranges we can deal with in this hybrid system, ie what is the load you can supply?
Whatever load you want, you build a big enough machine, and it'll supply. Talk to Homepower.org, they deal in installation info.

What is the use of your project?
Getting a grade so I can get out of here. Also perhaps some kid could copy it and get a grade too.

What machine is used in a wind turbine system?
The one that's used in all of them.

How can you increase the efficiency or power output of a hybrid system?
Umm... throw out the garbage on time? So that the system doesn't have to waste time doing it.

How cost-effective is a hybrid system?
Not much. I spent all my time and energy on this one, and that other idiot spent only 10 grand on his... and got a better grade! Talk about unfair!

Animal Tales

I know a dog, a black Labrador, owned by a friend of mine. He is huge and fat, being very well cared for, and also lazy, except when it comes to visitors to my friend's home. If you love dogs, you'll probably fall in love with him the moment you see him, like I did, and you'll never have a peaceful moment during your visit, since the dog will simply try to jump on you and tear you up in his excitement. If you show the slightest sign of being scared, God bless you. This is a dog that likes to scare people for fun, and will capitalize handsomely on the slightest sign of fear that you show.

But there are other animals in our lives too, besides the pets of our friends. Most of us do not bother to think about them, simply because they don't really have a ground shattering effect on our lives.

This junior in college recently brought to me a little box, containing three little baby rats. They were almost newly born, not more than a week old, and could sniff around, though not one could open its eyes. The mother may have abandoned them, but my juniors didn't have the heart to. They even inquired at a vet's if there was any sort of protective vaccination available. Sadly there was none, but last I heard, they have been trying to devise effective ways of feeding the little babies.

Then there's this mother cat in my hostel, who moves around with two beautiful kittens that bear the same colouring that she does. Kittens are such tiny delicate creatures. Cats are known to be rather aloof: they don't like being petted the way dogs do. They don't trust humans too much either. I managed to touch the cat, but she was averse to it and showed it too. The kittens moved away entirely from my range of touch.

The kitten tale reminds me of the kitten on Borivali Station in Mumbai. Another little baby probably abandoned by its mother, or perhaps orphaned. Feeble and cold, it tried to warm itself by sitting between my legs. My friend and I realized that we could not possibly take the kitten back with us, since neither he nor I would be able to take care of it properly. We tried to feed it, and it responded by climbing up into my lap on its own.

On a jog one cold morning in October, another friend and I found a litter of five pups lying bang in the middle of the road with no mother. It's common enough for the mother to give birth just about anywhere, though she does try to find a warm place which could be safe too. Stray dogs die easily, because if they aren't poisoned by unscrupulous householders or crushed by speeding vehicles, they are killed in fights with other dogs. These pups weren't newborn, but they didn't land up in the middle of the road by accident and were shivering badly. We thought to shift them to the bushes by the side of the road, and perhaps get some kind of cloth to serve as a blanket. The puppies didn't object to being touched, but the wail set up by them on being picked up brought the mother out of the nearby bushes where she had been resting onto the road, barking angrily. That was unnerving, but still reassuring. All mothers are indeed fiercely protective of their young.

Another jogging trip brought us to another puppy, this time alone, with no mother or siblings in sight. Pups are never born alone, but always in a litter, and while growing they rarely move far from each other. This little one had strayed away quite a bit, and though shivering in the cold, was not weak. It was sniffing quietly, looking lost and sad. My friend and I were wiser this time, and only remained with it till it wandered off on its own. It didn't object outright to being touched, but I don't think it liked it either. Stray dogs seem to be born with a sort of instinctive fear of being touched by humans. They need to be taught to like the touch, as pet dogs do.

I am reminded of the time when a young neighbour of mine brought to me a baby squirrel that he had found. That one had fallen out of its hole or nest wherever that was, and the mother hadn't retrieved it yet. If left on the ground without protection, the baby was likely to be eaten by a larger animal such as a cat or dog, which was why my friend picked it up. Squirrels hate to be touched even more than cats do, and this one had to be held cunningly so that it couldn't escape. It did manage to free its head for a few seconds though, and neatly sank its front teeth into my hand. They have really sharp teeth, needed for cutting and breaking through the seeds, nuts and pods that they eat. I am a creature large enough to be able to bear the pain of a squirrel bite, but that was a moment to be treasured, being bitten by a squirrel.

This other time, a squirrel got lost in my house. It found its way in and couldn't get out. For three days my mother and I chased it all through the house from room to room, and finally managed to corner it behind a door. I would have liked to tame it and keep it as a pet, but my folks won't abide animals, so I received the honour of releasing it back into the domestic wild from whence it came.

There was also once a toad that jumped into the kitchen, and this one we trapped under a bucket and led out of the house. And there was also the occasion when a young sparrow found its way into our house. At night too, so it took an hour of chasing and constantly light switching to enable it to find its way to the open air outside. That didn't help completely either, because the best we were able to do was guide it to the room with the largest window. We had to trap it and then release it. It wasn't a full grown adult; it could be held easily with two fingers and a thumb. The beating of its heart was faster and harder than I'd ever felt in my own pulse.

There is this lady who sells roasted corn stalks in the evenings right outside the college gate. There is a dog that frequents her stall, though keeping a distance, hoping to salvage a few grains from discarded stalks once people finish eating. My friend and I fed it a few grains at first one evening, feeling sorry for it. It wouldn't come any closer than five feet to us, so we left the grains on the sidewalk a little bit away. It lapped up the grains hungrily, not leaving a single one. We couldn't help it. We tore out and gave the remaining grains from the stalk as well. Even the gift of food wouldn't encourage enough trust in the animal to come closer to us. We had to leave everything at a safe distance from ourselves to encourage him to eat it. The slightest extension of a hand would drive him away.

There are a few dogs that frequent the tea stalls outside college in the mornings. These dogs are often fed biscuits by the people who come to jog on the college grounds. I once expressed a desire to my friend, the owner of the black Labrador, to feed them too. "Do it," he said. "I assure you, you won't ever regret it."

The Bad Credit Hotel

The biggest news at the moment is how the United States market has crashed, how millions of people have been left homeless due to foreclosures, how so many investors have lost their life savings due to bad loans and bad debts, and how many companies have been taken over or filed for bankruptcy. Not just in the US of A, but the whole world as well.

Meanwhile, the blame for this comes down not just to head honchos for making irresponsible decisions, but to every individual on his own for fueling an existence based on virtual money that doesn't exist, including bad financial behaviour such as taking loans you can't possibly pay back, and paying using credit that you can't possibly fulfill.

No comments from me on the matter: I've been trying to read and understand the matter but I am not a financial expert of any kind. I don't understand all these complicated investment matters and new schemes that keep floating around; I'm of the old school. But I do understand a few basic things: Buy now, pay later is a scheme that leads inevitably towards ruin, one must never spend more than what one has in one's wallet, and there is absolutely no excuse for spending needlessly.

People will still indulge in credit schemes though: the temptation to be able to own something right now and pay for it leisurely is too difficult to resist for most humans. The United States Treasury Department brought out this little idea to teach people to respect the institution of credit and use it properly, to avoid ruin. I've played the game. It's a little boring, since I don't have the patience to read through all those pieces of advice, and besides the rules don't apply exactly to me, since I do not reside in the United States. But the idea is likable indeed.

Have a go. You've got nothing to lose.

Marble Dreams

When the high Creator decided to bestow stone on the planet, in its myriad shapes, textures, colours and forms, little did the Mighty One, or anyone else for that matter (if they existed) realize that one of the most fascinating stones would be that with the perfect shape, the smoothest texture, the purest white colour, the most dazzling form. A stone so highly prized people dreamt of having it as their floor, because nothing speaks of affluence so much as the ability to have the whitest stone below the feet, used for the basic purpose of a living surface, when so many people could not afford even cheap stone for it, and lived on a surface of mud.

Marble. A stone that fascinates. A stone that is fascinating, because though it is abundant, it is highly prized and highly sought after. Especially pure, white, blemish-free marble, of the variety that was used to create the Taj Mahal, is very highly desired. At least it is, by a older generation of people who defined class by the ability to walk on marble floors. People nowadays prefer tiles of various kinds; those are much easier to clean, and don't really get very dirty in the first place.

Marble is not a precious stone. Indeed, it is not so precious that humans would give it the kind of importance that rubies or diamonds have: the honour of being worn upon the human body has not been granted to marble. But marble is an expensive and beautiful stone for construction, and is in that field, treated like diamond. Temples, community halls and other places of public use and worship are created using marble, the outer facades and porches of huge mansions are made with marble. The average middle class houseowner doesn't use marble for his floor; there are cheaper and more convenient floors available. Thus comes the idea that anyone who uses marble for his floor must be rather affluent indeed, and must be enjoying the greatest of joys and comforts.

My left foot and my right eyeball. This very same marble is a pain in the neck for me, because my mother, subscribing to the same old school of thought, installed marble floors in her house, making it impossible for me to move about the house, whether it be my body or the furniture I work upon, for fear of damaging the beautiful white floor. I am under strict orders to never even contemplate shifting any furniture, which would inevitably involve running the risk of scratching the floor. I'm sick of this. I wish I could move normally. I wish I could move my table the way I like without having to worry about scratching the floor. I wish I didn't have to worry about spilling anything onto the floor (because if the marble gets stained there's no way to remove the stain). I wish I didn't have to deal with the extraordinary amount of fine dust that creeps into the marble and eats it away, if the marble is not cleaned everyday. I wish I didn't have to worry about accidentally using acidic cleaners to clean the floor (because if you mix acid with CaCO3, which is what marble is, you're going to get a salty residue that would be the permanent ruin of your expensive marble).

But all the same, you have to admit it: the marble is magnificent. There's nothing to match the feeling of beautiful, sparkling, cold white stone that feels like butter when you sit upon it, after you've given it a thorough scrubbing. You feel royal, you feel like the queen sitting upon her throne, only the throne is not just a chair that you sit on, but has extended to become the very floor you live on. And this is why the old school, brought up to live life at just the right pace - neither unbearably slow nor excruciatingly fast - who didn't need to worry about spilling stuff or dragging furniture, harboured visions of pure cold white stone - marble dreams.

The Tortoise and the Hare - Extended Version

One day the hare was getting bored. He decided to challenge the tortoise to a race, thinking it would be fun to tease the tortoise about how slow he was. The tortoise accepted the challenge, and on the day of the race, things happened according to the old fable. The hare slept off in his arrogance, and by the time he awoke and reached the finish line, the tortoise had already won.

The hare was extremely unhappy. He knew he was the faster animal, so the next day he challenged the tortoise again. The tortoise couldn't refuse, of course. As expected, the hare, having learnt his lesson, stuck to the race and won it.

Now the tortoise was the unhappy one, feeling that his hard work had come to nought. He challenged the hare to a third race the next day, which the hare couldn't refuse. The hare started running, thinking that the tortoise was stupid as well as slow, since he couldn't possibly win. But suddenly he was brought to a standstill, and could go no further. He had reached a deep river, and there was no bridge to cross it. He remained stumped at the riverside, while along came the tortoise, who swam across the river, reached the finish line and won the race again.

What was the outcome of this? The hare and the tortoise became friends. On land, one was the powerful one; in the water, it was the other. There wasn't any point in striving against each other.

Life's like that, too.

Story related by my favourite teacher in college.

Life Without a Camera

I'm depressed. Well, not really. I'm just unhappy about my camera. Its power supply circuit seems to have some problem, so it ain't working, and I'm sad coz of that.

May be weird, but it's justified. I love my camera. It's a very simple old model, and there are much better ones available on the market today. But I am attached to this one, because of the simple awesome pix I have taken with it. It has come with me wherever I have gone, and I have gone so snap-happy all over the place, it's hard to imagine life without it.

Sure, there's a lot of trash floating around about how the best pictures and the best memories are always in the mind, and can never be captured on a cam, and so on and so forth. Get real. We live in a material world, and I like to have something solid and real to look at, when I'm remembering an old friend or a nice trip. Taking a trip down Memory Lane is a lot simpler and a lot more lively when you have the photo to look at, of each turn and twist of the lane. Besides, it always feels good to look at th3e reminder of what you've done - the photograph taken by your camera.

My cam needs repair. Hopefully I'll be able to find a place that will repair it well enough that it stays repaired. You can't trust anyone these days.

DRDO (Disaster Reaches out and Destroys Opportunity)

I am usually lucky, but I have the worst of bad luck if it ever happens to me. I sat for a job interview with DRDO (Defence Research and Development Organization), the Indian defence technology unit, which is supposed to be a research based job, and which will take only the best, though it pays the same as any ordinary software company. I was eligible so I sat for it, and it happened to be the worst thing in terms of an interview that ever happened to me.

I had a splitting headache in the morning as soon as I woke up. Yet I couldn't cancel out on the interview, because that would be the worst thing to do in the face of the Don, the head of our Training and Placement Department. I called him and asked him if I could cancel, but he snappily asked me to get dressed, take whatever medicine I wanted and get to the interview room asap. He offered to send his car if I wanted. So with my head spinning, not having bathed, and my portfolio in pieces, I landed up for the interview.

I was not prepared for a core based interview. I hadn't sat for one before, and I had no clue of the sort of questions they liked to ask. As a result I made a fool of myself there. I couldn't answer simple basic questions that I'm supposed to know as an electrical engineer, and now I wonder whether I should be given the degree of an engineer at all. The panelists actually commented, that I was giving answers that were too generic, and I seemed more interested in electronics based subjects rather than electrical.

My Head of Department was on the panel too. That was a shock, because then it felt like a viva session, and I am bad at viva sessions. To top it all I was staring at him for the first few minutes, and I was wondering whether it was really him, or just a guy that looked like him. It was only after he spoke that I was sure, because I recognized the voice. It was embarrassing, because I gave all those horrible, generic answers and made a fool of myself right in front of my HOD. The icing on the cake came when one panelist asked me to name the subjects we were studying this semester. I flubbed even on that question, pathetic as it was. I named four of five subjects. The one I forgot was the subject that my HOD teaches.

How does one recover from a shock of this kind? I have never had such a disaster before. I have been assiduously avoiding my HOD since then, though I couldn't escape him in the classroom the next lecture after this, when he commented that he hadn't expected this from me. The story of forgetting his subject though, seems to be a hit amongst all my batchmates.

Five Smells on a Train

Train journeys in India (especially those involving a ride for over five hours, standing in a crowded, dirty stinky compartment with no place to sit, grateful for a place to stand and highly obliged for having been able to climb into the coach in the first place) are an experience that should be had at least once in a lifetime.

I travel around twice a month or so, between college and home, by train, and I have a plethora of experiences to relate. The most striking one was the latest one that I had, which was in fact, yesterday. Travelling in the rainy season can be hectic, but in the monsoon season, it is madness.

The first job is getting into the train. It ain't as simple as step inside, haul luggage, move inside. It means yell, rush forward like mad, yell, push through and clamber into the coach, yell, pull luggage inside after you (sometimes along with a friend who is unfortunately stuck somewhere behind you), yell, move inside, yell, find a place to stand (which is more likely to happen than finding a place to sit) and yell again until the train starts. In this process, you are pressed against a dozen other bodies, all of you sweating and struggling to find a foothold, hitting and being hit by luggage flying all over the place, and if you're a woman, may you be blessed. That's the first smell that will strike you as a woman, if you're entering the general compartment (the general general compartment, not the ladies special coach). The overpowering smell of masculine sweat.

The next job is finding the most comfortable position to stand in, for whatever period of time you need to stand, be it one hour or five. The best place to be is at the door of the compartment, since you can enjoy some fresh breeze, and actually sit on the footboard, if you feel like it. People often do that, sometimes for journeys as long as sixteen hours. But bless you again if you're stuck anywhere on the inside corridor between the two facing doors. Over there, the stench of the lavatory is inescapable, especially since it is overused and never flushed. The stink is often so powerful that it hits the senses almost immediately upon entering the train.

Another smell, which I have never understood, is that of fish. For some mystical reason, the general compartments always carry an overwhelming smell of fish with them. I suppose it is due to the proximity to the goods carriages, which are close by, but nevertheless, the degree of penetration of the smell is marvellous.

The fourth smell is one that is probably not noticeable to the masses of labourers and rural working force who mostly tend to use the train and it's general compartment, but if you're like me, a student who has mostly lived a smell-free life, you're likely to notice it. It's the thick and extremely heavy hair oil that is used by the rural women, for its cheapness and its ability to keep the hair straight and manageable without too much effort. It's called jameli ka tel in local dialect. There's nothing like the smell of it. All I could think of before I was able to place it was what the hell is anyone doing with rotting flowers in here. Does Rafflesia smell like this?

The fifth smell is occasional, depending on your luck. It's that of alcohol. Alcohol consumption is banned by law in this state, but in a few territories it's allowed, and of course bootlegging is one of the biggest black industries in the state. The poorer folk in particular tend to consume the locally made liquor, which is very strong, often freely adulterated with spirits that don't exclude methanol and the like, and which stinks to low hell, the odour bearing uncanny similarity with fresh puke. You need to watch out with this drink. It can work like nothing else in corroding your inner tissues, bringing on early blindness, poisoning and death. How anyone survives it is beyond me. It's called crimpy in college argot. Also called, tharra, pauaa, or just simple desi daru.

If after all this you still find any pleasure in travelling in the train, congratulations. You've just attained a higher level of tolerance for worldly evils.