What Is Happiness?

Going further, going longer and experiencing more.

My brain is oversaturated but cannot stop thinking. Thoughts from adventures of different years are running around in my head and get mixed up. Impressions from places I have seen appear and increase my excitement for new adventures to come.

I feel I need to move because I have lost the curiosity I had about the place where I live. Suddenly the interest in discovering new areas in my hometown is gone. I feel that I just try to fool myself by telling myself that this is new. How does it happen that some people never lose the curiosity of one place? Is it because they see the place every day differently such that they experience it every day as a new place? Have they maybe found the real happiness there? What is actually happiness?

If I try to think about one of my happiest moments in life, one situation pops up in my mind, which might not seem very special for someone who has not experienced it but which led to this inner feeling of peace and appreciation in me at that same time. Interestingly I still get the same feeling when I think of it now.

It was one day during my fieldwork. I think it was the first day we drove off-road to a rural area in Mozambique. I was sitting in the back of the car. Two others were sitting in the front driving me to one of my research areas. One assisted me as a driver and the other one as a translator. They knew each other and were close friends. We passed by some rural villages on the way home, the sun was setting down and we had a long day of driving and conducting interviews behind us. I just looked out of the window fascinated by the landscape with the sun setting down, the extraordinary light making the place appear full of beauty. Then I turned around and looked at my colleagues. There was only the sound of the local Mozambican music playing in the radio, no one was talking and everyone seemed to have drifted away in his/her own thoughts. This moment with my fellows in the dusty car, who I just had met shortly before this trip and who offered me to assist me during my research was very special for me. The fact that we did not know each other from before (we had a common friend in the South of Mozambique who arranged our meeting in the first place) and that we spent two of the most exciting weeks of my life together, driving from one rural area to another, this moment in the car was just the beginning of it. It was in this moment when I realized how amazing humanity can be and how simple happiness can be.

So coming back to our question what actually is happiness. I think there is no universal understanding of happiness. However, we all seem to search for it. So how can we seek for happiness if we don’t really know what it entails? Some of us seek it in helping others, some in relationships, some in their work and others maybe in travelling.

There are two things I have learned in life about happiness so far and hopefully more are to come over the years. The first thing is that we have to keep in mind that happiness is not a stable stage over time. Happiness can appear from one moment to another and in the same way it can be gone in the next second. However, the fluctuating character of happiness is not a bad thing. I mean if we were happy all the time how could we still enjoy happiness? Isn’t it that we often learn how to value something when it is gone?

The second thing I have learned is that it does not matter where we find happiness but the important point is that we should not forget what makes us really happy and that this is an enormous accomplishment. There are a lot of people out there who are looking all their life for real happiness without finding it. Some of them think that certain things make them happy because it is what society tells you is happiness. I cannot tell you what the key to happiness is because there is no generic key but I can tell you that if you have found your happiness cherish it, never forget it, try to be honest with yourself and don’t fight to preserve it. Even if your understanding of happiness does not conform to the general way of living it is important that we stay honest with ourselves because we are in charge of our happiness and no one else and we cannot make others responsible for our happiness. However, what we can do is to share “our” happiness with them.

Thus, I believe that if we have figured out what makes us happy and we have found someone with the same understanding of happiness then we truly have reached the full level of happiness – like my two silent companions in a car on a dusty road in Mozambique.

This is an article by my friend Pia Otte – she requested me to post this on the blog so it can reside on the internet. :)

Tålmodighet

It is a rainy Thursday afternoon in Ås. I come to the train station and I find that my train to Oslo will not leave before 14:51. I take a look at my watch and realize that I still have more than half an hour to go in this rainy weather. Feeling cold and bored I look around and spot a café on the other side of the railway. It is the old main building of the train station, which was renovated to a coffee place. I enter the place and I notice its cozy grandmother’s atmosphere. This is definitely a much nicer and warmer place to stay than in the rainy weather outside. I take a seat next to the window, where I can view the railways, and the big station clock strikes my eye next to the window with its red pointer moving smoothly across its face. 

I take a sip of my hot chocolate to warm up and turn to the table next to me, where four elderly ladies are having a conversation. Two of them seem to be Norwegian while two others are foreigners. They speak a mixture of English and Norwegian. I turn around to the window again, look outside and take another sip of my hot chocolate, while more or less unconsciously eavesdropping on their conversation. At one point one of the ladies mentions something, which I don’t understand but it ends with the word patience. The lady stops talking for a moment and then asks the group “How do you say patient in Norwegian?” My first thought is “oh that is easy, it is “tålmodig of course” and while I am still happy with myself for remembering the word, both of the Norwegian ladies reply “tålmodig”.

However, it seems that the foreign lady did not understand. She tries to repeat the word but just gets the first part and the other two, noticing that she faces problems, repeat slowly to her “tål-mo-dig”.It is in this moment that I realize what it means to be tålmodig. I have heard and used this word so many times in my life. I tended to despise it without catching its real meaning. It actually captures two very important dimensions that require a lot of effort from our personality at the same time. 

The word is actually a composite of two words. The first part  “tåle”, means "to bear" or "to stand" and the second part "modig", means something like courageous. Patience - to bear with courage - suddenly made a little more sense. I smile to myself about my discovery and look again at the station clock with its red pointer moving smoothly across its face. I try to bear the situation and be brave simultaneously.

By Pia Otte.

Moved!

I've moved to a new blog with most of my posts - so do come and visit :)

Captain Aapukuruvi still lives, however and will continue to inspire me to write!

Guardian Gyaan on Being a Science Journalist

I paid 40 pounds to attend the Guardian Masterclass on Science Journalism in London, to find out that

1. There are no jobs in print journalism for anybody, let alone print journalists.

2. You cannot become a freelance journalist – you must already be one.

3. Want to be a science journalist? Then you better have a brother-in-law in the labs.

4. Nobody wants to read what you write – that is assuming you can write.

5. The Guardian is the awesomest paper ever. And when I say ever I mean, ever.

Just kidding. Well… kinda. If you’re still reading, you probably do have a chance in print science journalism. I actually picked up a lot of useful tips in a very interesting 3 hour session conducted by James Randerson, editor of the Guardian Science Desk. For instance, I learnt that a shortened version of my intro here, in a news article, would be called a dropped intro – something that is playful, heightens drama, and is never supposed to be used in a well-written science article. Oops. The class was held in The Guardian’s impressive glass and steel office near King’s Place. I had expected around 20 other participants but was mildly shocked by the number of wannabe science journalists – all 100 places had been sold out!

James started off the talk with a mention of Tim Radford, the former editor on the Science desk and some of his tips. James reinforced Tim’s point that nowadays, the biggest pitfall in science journalism is writing that is not readable… or worse, not read. The most important person in a science news article, surprisingly enough, is you – the reader. Not the science.

Second most common pitfall? Overestimating the reader’s knowledge… and underestimating his intelligence. A typical science news story follows the inverted triangle concept – it starts off with the most newsworthy information, followed on by some details and finishing off with the background. The polar opposite of what a journal paper would do, though, in fact, very similar to the structure of an abstract. The topline hints at the specifics, but – and this was actually quite revealing – the topline of a science news story is 90% of the time a straightforward introduction to the subject of the story, not a dramatic introduction. So what makes a good science story?

There was a reason this class was advertised with a focus on health and environmental science stories. For a science story to work as news it should fulfill one of two basic criteria –

a) It should be relevant to me/my family/my friends (e.g., health stories – any number, such as the current series on running, potential cures for diseases, the list is endless)

b) Or, the story should have a ‘wow’ factor. Like the one about the meteorite in Russia. Or the discovery of the underwater lava lake by Southampton oceanography scientists.

In the second session we were given an insight into how a story makes it from a reported finding to the newspaper – a dreary drip-feed driven by press releases and news feeds from scientific journals. The whole shenanigans seems so dependent on the scientific community that it begs the question – do newspapers only ever publish stories that the scientists want them to? In fact, I had several questions bouncing around in my head, clamouring to be asked – are journalists doing a good job in communicating uncertain findings? Do the public have a right to know what’s going on in the labs, or are they merely interested?... but this talk was not a philosophical debate on the ethics of science and science journalism, so I told my questions to shut up.

Occasionally, Mr. Randerson (say that in an Agent-Smith-like voice if you’re bored) would plug the Guardian (“Contrast our responsible science publishing with the irresponsible rubbish printed by the tabloids”) but that was to be expected and did not detract from the more useful information and tips he gave us – so, forgiven.

The last bit of the talk was the most interesting, for – prepare to be shocked - unsolicited emails from individuals pitching science news stories ARE READ! Apparently this is how he got noticed. Among other things, a basic pitch should contain a topline, a peg (why now?), 50-100 words of context, a very brief summary of who you are… and if you have it, the story itself. Don’t expect a reply, let alone feedback – editors are ludicrously busy. But equally, don’t be shy to call up and harass them to atleast read your email.

Finally – tell them something they don’t know – avoid press releases and publications, and avoid regular journals – the press has these already. Oh – and in case you didn’t know - the Wellcome Trust Science Writing Contest is on.

Before I finish, I’d like to mention an interesting aside – I got talking to the guy next to me and we were both convinced that atleast 25 of the 100 participants that day were final-year PhD students, clutching at straws for their future careers. Funny image, that.

If you’re a journalist, I have nothing to say, except… watch out for those PhD students. If you’re a PhD student however… Go forth, and shine light into the murky world of science on behalf of all those lab coats in there struggling to communicate!

HTH.

Sanctum

Cool, airy and spacious, the ancient temple seemed almost cathedral-like, with a towering central dome, balconies running all round on four levels and the sanctum at the far end, with its curtain drawn. Unlike the more modern Ram Raja Mandir next door, this place was somewhat in ruins and almost empty. A few hundred years ago it would have thronged daily with devotees of the main deity, LaxmiNarayana, but today it stood unused. It wasn’t entirely still, however. This was evidently a popular hangout for local children… and curious tourists. An enterprising youth had acquired the keys to the inner stairwell and offered to open doors in exchange for a fee! After bargaining him down a bit we agreed on a price and spent the next half an hour exploring the balconies, stopping every now and then to take pictures of the picturesque town of Orchcha spread out at the feet of this monument.

We were asked to end our explorations by the self-assigned gatekeeper who felt we had had our money’s worth, and having had our fill of photographs, we obeyed and made our way out. I turned around as we were leaving, and noticed that the sanctum curtain was now partly open and a light shining through. As I walked towards it, I realized that this was actually a functioning temple. The sanctum had a resident deity and was manned! I took my shoes off some distance away before approaching the sanctum. As I neared it I realized that I was witnessing a miracle – an image that somehow, in that moment, felt powerful, and filled me with a sense of happiness, calm… and hope.

It was simply that sanctum was being guarded and maintained by a young girl, in her early teens. As she was still in uniform, she had probably come here straight from school. Oblivious to the conversations between the tourists and the self-appointed gate-keeper youth, the shouts and laughter from the other children running around the place, she sat there giving the deity company, reading diligently from a notebook. A plate with a lamp, some kumkum and turmeric, some flowers and some rupee notes sat beside her, along with a pile of text and note-books. I had approached the sanctum with the intention of seeing the deity and praying, but I backed away, not wanting to disturb her, so peaceful and absorbed in her reading! I decided that I would have to capture this scene, and did so rather guiltily, all the time feeling like I was invading the privacy of a sacred space. But I’m glad I did, for looking at that image a few months on, at a time when the country is being rocked by shocking scandals, brings back those feelings.

It is difficult to explain why I found - and still find - it so powerful – there is something about this image of a school-going girl, maintaining a temple sanctum while reading her textbooks, in an old, quiet, ruined temple that seems…right.  

Absinthe

(Absinthe - French word, from the Greek for 'wormwood' - a bitter shrub, also used as a noun to indicate a state or source of grief)

Black and red are the lips of rock

Volcano emerging from the depths

Thrust out of charred earth

A monument to eternity

Green and blue are its frames

A destructive force with a conscience

Ancient slopes richly forested

Framed against a deep blue sky

A monument to infinity

Black and red are the vanishing insides

Setting sun on frozen magma

Empty crater swallowing all light

A monument to nothingness

Green and blue is the pool below

Deep down, almost out of sight
Now still now alive
Unknown waters holding your grief
A monument to now

The Great Indian Tatkal Experience

Act 1

7.15 AM. The parrots and cuckoos had started calling, and the morning newspaper had just landed on our driveway, but the house was still slumbering. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and cursed, “Pick up, you lazy ass!” I waited six rings, put the phone down and went into the kitchen for coffee prepared by woken-solely-for-this-purpose-mum. Typically, my phone rang, out of earshot, and I missed my friend’s call. After playing cellular hide-and-seek for a wasted 10 mins we finally got to one another.

Me: Dude, you do realise we don’t have tickets for our Chennai-Nagpur train tomorrow?

VK: Of course. Tatkal only, no option.

Hm. Should we postpone? … Actually, no, scratch that. Fine. Tatkal. The window is 8-10 right?

Yeah. Cool, I’ll come over to yours at 8, I’ll bring my laptop as well – you have wi-fi right? We will need at least two log-ins to get the tickets.

Ahem… dai, this is why I called at 7.15! I told you yesterday – no internet at home, broadband’s down. I’ll bring my laptop to your place, that ok?

Nope.

Eh?? Wtf? Why not? No… don’t tell me….

Yep. Sorry. Power-cut times at my place are 8-10 this week… Hold on, I got it – dude, we’ll go to your dad’s office. You have two computers and printer, and all that. Sorted.

Gaaaahhhh…nope. Dad’s office is in the same zone as you – 8-10, no power. Haha. I would laugh if this weren’t true.

Nice. Kinda screwed. Ok, internet parlour.

Yes – only option. Aiyo, been ages since I used one! I think there’s one nearby, though it may not be open this early. We might have to scout. Listen – I’ll get my bike, and pick you up in 10 minutes at the end of my street.

15 minutes.

Machan – its 7.30 now. By the time we find a parlour and log-in, it will be 8. We need to be in the tatkal booking system at 8. Cya in 10, bye.

Fine, fine…goodness! Cya.

Act 2

 7.45AM. I dodged early morning joggers, cyclists, cows, proud Tata Nanos and water tankers, with VK riding pillion, looking out  for an internet cafe. My hunch about the first one was right – it was closed. In fact, very permanently closed. VK said he knew one near our ice-cream/chat shop guy, but we didn’t find any there. We drove through the streets behind the temple, but no luck there either. We finally found a shopping mall on the main road and were directed to an internet parlour. Yay!

Me: Hahaha, ahhh, hilarious.

VK: Crazy fellow, what’s up?... Oh.

Hehehehe, the irony! A candle-lit, power-less, internet parlour. We are soooo screwed! Goodbye holiday plans!

Machan, chill, let’s find out.

VK (to a forlorn, sleepy looking man who looked every inch the owner of an internet parlour facing a power-cut): Excuse me, when does the power come back on?

Internet guy: 8 am.

VK: Phew! Thank goodness! It’s…7.52 now.

Me: Good, I need sustenance. 8 minutes – there’s a chai-wala next door.

5 minutes, a chai and a banana later…

Dude – we better go – there’s a queue building to get into that parlour!

Gosh, looks like all of Kilpauk has descended here.

Yeah – it is tatkal time after all!

Act 3

With trepidation we join the ridiculously long queue to get into that tiny parlour. We look around, spot two free PC’s and grab our seats. One, in a corner, barely has place for me to stand, but what the hell, needs must, and all that. Sigh of relief. We boot up our computers, and fish out our IRCTC (online Indian railway reservation) log-in IDs and details.

VK: You have a credit card, right?

Me: Yeah, yeah… borrowed dad’s  – first let’s get into the IRCTC system.

Me: Yes! Woohoo!

VK: Booked??

Haha, very funny. But I have logged in, and selecting trains. You?

Not good. My… computer….just crashed.

Whaaaa? Crap, I’ve been logged out. Must be the whole of India booking tatkal tickets right now. Gaaahh.

Random Guy (sitting next to me): Hi. You are booking tatkal as well?

Me (glaring at potential competition): Yes. Where are you going?

Random Guy: Bangalore. You?

Me: Ah good. Nagpur. Have you logged in?

Random Guy: Yeah… ive even selected my train, but the page is stuck on the user details form.

Me: Ahhh. You’re ahead of us! VK – we need to catch up.

VK: Yeah, yeah. My computer’s still booting up. Give me the passenger details, meanwhile.

10 minutes of silence punctuated by mouse-clicks, frantic keyboard taps and frustrated sighs.

Random Guy: Damn. I got to the payment page, entered my card details, and it crashed!

Me: The computer?

Random Guy: No, no, the internet. Have to log in again now. Torture. You? Any luck?

Me: Hmm, I keep getting stuck on the user form details. Its already 8.20, I don’t even think there’ll be any tickets left after 8.30.

VK: Boo, yeah! Sid, credit card, quick! Grand Trunk Express okay with you?

Me: Dude! Yeah! Hell, I’ll be happy if we can get there sitting on the roof. Stud! You got it? Here, take card, go, go go!

VK: Passenger details, check. Card details, check. Proceed to payment. HDFC Gateway….waiting…not looking good…yeah! Done, and done! Four berths – Grand Trunk Express, tomorrow evening 19.30, booked…. I. Am. The. Man.

Me: Awesomeness! Yeah! (to Random Guy) Any luck, mate?

Random Guy: What, you guys got your tickets? Man, no, I had to start all over again. Bangalore sector is the worst.

Me: Yeah – Bangalore is terrible. Keep trying!

VK and I make a victorious exit and head straight to the nearest restaurant for a well-earned breakfast of coffee and masala dosa. We had just emerged victorious from a trial that millions of Indians go through everyday, a trial where victory is by no means guaranteed, and on which holidays, businesses and journeys depend – the Great Indian Tatkal Experience.

The Moonlit Sun (or Screwing With The Notion Of Objectivity)

The title of my poem, respectful Sirs, is The Moonlit Sun.

The Moonlit Sun? Ha ha, goodness, you must be joking boy, What age do you live in, we are men of science we are and we know better than that, do we not?

Oh, but you are old, old men and poor

That have not the gift of nonsense, beautiful nonsense

Oh, but do try dear Sirs and you shall see him as I do

He stands there, like a battle-ready warrior in his chariot

Eight horses made of fire, of fire and stone and light

Looking up into a star-studded night sky and his face is lit

Not by fire, kind Sirs, nay, but the soft, caressing glow of the Moon.

Tosh, boy, and stupidity! A diamond cannot be scratched as it is the hardest of them all and the Sun cannot be lit, it is the brightest of them all – use your head and get on with it!  

My head, polite Sirs, is where I seek, like all great scientists and poor fools of this age

We have found the particle, did you know, knowledgeable Sirs,

Higg’s boson has been found,

After searches high and low and now the scientists, bless them,

Face questions twice as profound

The answers to which, they shall delightedly tell you, they as yet do not know

For where is the wonder of seeking when all that is sought has been found

And where is the wonder of seeing when all that is to be seen is known!

Oh, open your eyes, obliging Sirs and you shall see him as I do

Tall and dark, a smile upon the lips...

...A discus in the right hand, a conch in the left and the Egyptians call me Ra

I stand here, basking in her light, her beautiful, mellow light

“Mellow coz’ its reflected light, reflected light!” they mutter

Ahhh, reflected light, that may be

But what a beauty, what a beauty is she!

Every night in that exquisite hour

Before the break of dawn (another story, that)

I stand here, the dutiful sun

I would rather bask in her glow (reflected, I know!)

For ever, and ever and more

But she has other places to see

And I shall follow where she goes…

You may think me a fool, wise Sirs

A charge I shall plead guilty to

But use your head, you said, and this is what it sees!

For one magical hour when the stars are all but gone

For one magical hour before his daily run

He stands in his chariot of fire,

A tall man of contented heart,

A smile on his lips and a glow on his face,

The Moonlit Sun.

Tiger - A Follow-up

So, here’s another side to the previous post (http://www.aapukuruvi.blogspot.co.uk/2012/08/tiger.html). Injured tigers in the wild often turn man-eaters since men are typically easier prey. This brings these tigers into villages. In one such village in south India, a man-eater had killed a woman and was spotted by villagers who promptly called the officials. After a tense chase and some drama, the tiger was hunted down and shot – but not to kill, he was shot with a tranquiliser dart and taken to the local zoo. A stark, stark difference in attitude with the tiger in Cologne. This tiger had killed a woman – not in any attempt to escape – and killing it would therefore have been justified. But the villagers and the officials chose to tranquilise it and send it to a zoo. The headline for this article? “Man-eater tiger of HD Kote caught.” (http://www.deccanherald.com/content/274416/man-eater-tiger-hd-kote.html). It could just as easily have been “Village rid of murdering tiger” but thank goodness it wasn’t!

The other issue here is on my stand with zoos. I have had a lot of discussions with friends (and family!) since the previous post on whether zoos should be abolished. The main arguments for zoos are a)they protect endangered animals that human beings would otherwise kill in the wild and b) they raise awareness amongst the public. I shall answer the second argument first. Raising awareness I think is not as strong an argument nowadays as before – we have excellent cinematic and other visual media that provide us with a wonderful sense of the world these animals live in. In fact, I think it is rather demeaning to see predators being fed, and rather than raising awareness actually diminishes their majesty. This episode presents strong support for the first argument. What happens when a tiger is injured in the wild, by natural causes – is it then alright to ship it to a zoo? In such a case, I accept a zoo can serve as a nursing home – we cannot afford to let an injured tiger die since we have so few of them left, so our only option is to nurse them in a zoo – with a view to releasing them back in the wild if and as soon as possible (this may not be feasible in case of a man-eater since once they taste man-flesh they find that the preferable option!) . Do I still think zoos should be abolished? Yes – as zoos, as tourist attractions that cage healthy animals, they should. Their existence as tourist attractions lets us escape having to make the choice between having animals in the wild and letting them die out. However, I concede they could serve a good purpose as temporary nursing pens - or in this particular case as an old age home, for injured wild animals.

Would love your comments on the fascinating debate this is turning out to be!

Tiger

A tiger recently escaped from Cologne Zoo, in Germany, after killing a keeper, but was shot dead before it could reach the visitor’s enclosure (http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/feedarticle/10407911). Quick stats from Wiki tell that at a conservative guess there are 4,000 tigers on this planet and 7 point something billion people. That’s 1.75 million people to every tiger on this planet. A kidnapped man’s attempts to escape after shooting his gaolers would be praised as bravery. A man’s fundamental right to freedom. The only situation where this man would have stones flung at him, would be if the rest of the human population were kidnappers. All the headlines for this news article about the tiger read “Tiger escapes, kills keeper.” The headlines could equally have read, “Tiger shot dead while attempting to escape from zoo.” And therein lies my point. Are we a world of kidnappers? Do I have a stand in this? Yes – abolish zoos. The argument that a zoo keeps an animal safe is weak and pathetic. We have laws to keep our animals safe in the wild, we just don’t have the will to do so. Or the guts to say out loud that we don’t need tigers, we don’t need wildlife, we don’t need jungles. In my opinion, humans will survive as a race even if every tree on this planet were cut down. But that is not what I want.

Crystal Ball

She stands alone in the giant hall, the high windows letting in fingers of mellow evening light. She turns so her hands and the object they're holding catch the light. Suddenly there are a thousand stars in the room with her, of a thousand different colours, dancing as if they're being juggled, as the multitude of crystal faces catch the light, play with it and send it back.She stares hypnotised at its thousand faces, at the dancing stars, at the evening light playing hide and seek with the crystals, marvelling at the fragility of this imaginary universe. It looks alive, indescribably beautiful. The stars dip and shudder as she trembles in fear at what she suddenly knows - the price for such beauty is transience.


She watches her hands part. The ball slips through the gap in her palms. She steps back as if stung. The thousand stars race down the walls in slow motion, momentarily painting the notches and cracks in the pillars on their way. After what seems like an eternity she hears a crash that seems to come from far far away. The thousand stars fly across the room and out through the windows like butterflies that have found their freedom.She looks down at her feet, in a mixture of morbid fascination, fear and detachment, at the sharp, jagged shards of crystal lying all around her, a broken cage devoid of light. She stands alone in the giant hall, the high windows letting in fingers of mellow evening light.

Self Promotion

New post, on a new blog - up at www.afullbackpack.blogspot.com - a travel blog I've just started along with Richard, a friend of mine. Do visit and comment! :)

HTH (or A Journalistically Plausible Piece of Nonsense)

Not to put too fine a point on it, but this guy’s the dog’s bollocks. Ah! Sorry, gentle readers, I have jumped the proverbial gun. I shall start at the beginning. I was nosing around in Matlab forums for a piece of code and I finally found a thread with the answers, provided by this guy who signs himself as HTH. This is probably a good point in the narrative to ward off any blood-seeking gender activists by the following disclaimer: It could well have been any other gender, but to hell with that – I’m sure it’s a guy. Anyway, so this guy had the answers. I allocated him space in my crowded brain and filed him as ‘the Matlab guy’. Three days later, on a search for a solution to pesky ArcGIS problem, I find the answer being provided by, no surprise, the very same bloke (sceptical readers can find him here: http://gis.stackexchange.com/questions/12284/how-do-you-find-linear-mileage". Now this is something, I said to myself. ArcGIS and Matlab? I promptly enlarged his allocated space in my brain, renamed him ‘the geek’ and moved on. Now, this is where it gets interesting – a week on, I was looking at a Python forum (don’t ask me, gentle readers, why I was switching between languages like an undecided fly – the answer is disappointingly banal) when who should provide the answers, but none other than the geek, HTH. He has since occupied half my brain (3/8 right and 1/8 left, to be specific) and goes by the alias ‘God.’ Now that his omnipotence, omnipresence and omnibenevolence have been conclusively proven (gosh, proving the existence of God doesn’t get easier, does it!), I shall go on to relate to you, my readers, one of his exploits.

HTH, for he is benevolent enough to allow free use of his Christian name, went on a date once, when in the Old Blighty. He acquiesced to his partner’s demands and went to a wine and cheese night despite being particularly unfond of blue cheese, because he’s a decent chap, but mainly because the disadvantages of a strong after-taste far outweighed the disadvantages of an empty eye-socket. And of course, a few extra glasses of wine on a date never did one any harm. As expected, the after-taste got less and less sharp and more and more likeable, helped along by the increasingly companionable attitude of his partner. And, Stilton is after all, the king of blue cheeses. To cut a long story short, the cows of Leicestershire and the grape vines of Bordeaux had their existence thoroughly justified that night. Now as we all know, the unmoderated consumption of Stilton before one sleeps can result in strange mental goings-on. In fact, there is a direct link between the consumption of Stilton and dreams populated with vegetarian crocodiles. If you do not believe this claim, gentle readers, I refer you to
"http://web.archive.org/web/20060115000115/http://www.cheeseboard.co.uk/news.cfm?page_id=240" and hope that this shall, for once and all, put your natural scepticism to rest.

In fact, that night, in the throes of a Stilton-induced dream, HTH saw himself wrestling with a Greater Flamingo while trying to save the life of a vegetarian crocodile that had got lost while attempting the Annual Nile Run and ended up in the Guinean mangrove swamps of Sierra Leone. HTH sat bolt upright in his bed. His partner murmured, what’s wrong, honey, all that cheese? Do you know something absolutely startling I read the other morning? Scientists have found, and I do not speak lightly or for that matter kid you, that a proven way of losing weight is to eat less! Can you believe that? If you can’t (my gentle readers), here is incontrovertible proof: "http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/health-14882832". No, said HTH, it’s something far less startling. There is a mission I have to undertake. A vegetarian crocodile is in trouble. He seeks answers on ‘how to subdue a Greater Flamingo’ but doesn’t have access to the internet and cannot get on to the usual forums. Now you may be thinking, my dear, and be all too justified in doing so, that this is bunkum, but this lizard of the Nile is in fact a distant relative of his Indian cousin (mentioned here: "http://www.thehindu.com/arts/magazine/article2512203.ece") though he doesn't share his passion for rice balls." "Hmm," said his partner. "That might be because basmati rice well-cooked is the olfactory cousin of tiger piss. It's a territory thing." "What nonsense." "No, look here: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/science-environment-11787325." "Goodness, these are strange times we live in. Gosh, I must go now. I’m sorry, darling, don’t keep the breakfast out. I’ll be back for lunch. Goodnight." And as the partner watched, HTH vanished.

He took a few minutes to get to Sierra Leone, having stopped off en-route in a Tesco’s for a fish-wrap, a Go Outdoors for an oxygen tank and a Nalli’s in Chennai for a lungi (for the uninitiated of you, a lungi is a colourful piece of cloth wrapped around the waist, worn by males). For the place he was going to was no ordinary West African town as you shall soon see for yourself. He landed, he wore the lungi and he laughed out loud until his lungs were empty, he fixed up the oxygen tank and laughed out loud for a few hours more. And only then were his omnipresence, omnibenevolence and omnipotence re-established. For, he was in the land of Lungi-Lol. Now if you do not believe the existence of said land, my gentle readers, I refer you here: "http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-africa-13688683". And he went forth, this God, to the swamp where the vegetarian crocodile had got lost, a victim of extensive landscape changes caused by profiteering land-grabbers. He gave the crocodile the fish-wrap and his I-phone, specially equipped for access to the internet regardless of where you are. The crocodile googled how to subdue a Greater Flamingo with a fish-wrap (I shall not bore you with detail for I am sure you are no longer the sceptics you once were). He found an answer signed HTH, and needless to say, all, my gentle readers, is well.

Hope That Helps.

Embrace

Inspired by a chat with a friend on embracing the unknown :)


A stream gentle yet hurried
With whirlpools, mini-falls, autumn leaves
Unsurprising, expected, yet pleasant to observe until a shadow
A shadow hints, teases,
Forces you out of an observers complacence,
There is more beneath the pleasantly surprising
An unknown waiting to be discovered, felt, embraced,
You resist,
Remaining on the bank,
After all you don’t know to swim
And there’s much joy in watching the water, the leaves,
Yet the undertow beckons,
A whisper formed, meant for you
Reaches you on the crisp breeze, special, irresistible,
And you dive in
You who don’t know to swim
Abandoning thought, embracing the unknown
A splash breaks the surface,
Ripples emerging from the darkness beneath
The stream hurries on gently,
Whirlpools, leaves and all.

Lines of Defence – The Future of Medicine and Man

Until now natural selection and personal health were key factors in determining the survival of a human being faced with a threat. Diseases would appear, decimate a society or community and move on leaving the survivors to recoup and reproduce with newly evolved methods of fighting a recurrence. While societal living had a role to play in terms of affording protection, this was still secondary to the fitness of the individual. However the increasing complexity of the medicines and societal mechanisms man has been developing for his protection are changing this. We have come to the point where there is a noticeable externalisation of our lines of defence to health threats. Our defences are no longer so much within our bodies as outside. A recent article in the BBC (‘Will we all be tweaking our own genetic code?’, Karen Weintraub, 19 Sep. 11) exemplifies this shift in a discussion of the possibility of genetically targeted medicines that will help prevent diseases at their inception. Such a shift seems a natural and probably inevitable outcome of our technological advance. Indeed parts of western society are already grappling with one direct consequence of this advance –increased, and ageing, population. However there is another, increasingly relevant, aspect that arises from this conundrum of externalisation – the question of access. In all likelihood, this question will in the long-term vanish, as the now-new externalised 'natural' defence system settles down after going through its initial upheavals. However it will be worth considering the question if we wish to mitigate the pains of transition.

The question itself is not new. Though ethics in medicine and testing have undergone radical changes in recent decades, poor and under-privileged parts of the world have long been, and remain, testing grounds for new pharmaceutical drugs. It is a not-irrelevant point that several life-giving drugs have probably emerged much faster than they would have otherwise as a result of this inhumane process. How these costs and benefits may be added up, and whether at all they can/should be added up are questions that remain unanswered. However the development of genetic medicine arguably intensifies, by a great measure, the pertinence of the issue and its societal implications. An assumption I make here is that genetic medicine will need, by its very nature, to be tailored to a specific individual. In practical terms, assuming the availability of manufacturing facilities at reasonable prices, this will mean the access of every individual to a facility (and doctor) that will use his DNA sequence to determine the type of medicine he needs and manufacture it. At one level, this is a very welcome scenario – cheap, automated facilities that will not discriminate and be accessible to all. However, in nation-states where medication is privatised and socialised healthcare not available, where will the poor go for their individually-tailored medicines? For – and this is the root of the questions being asked here, the more we externalise our defence systems, the more we will depend on them for our survival. The poor of the future will be far less internally resilient to the viruses living with us today. It is likely that with individually tailored medication, we will also have individual-specific side-effects. Even in today’s relatively simplistic times, pharmaceutical corporations have been known to suppress unpleasant facts about the drugs they develop when they are put on the market. Will it be possible to come up with a free, fair and transparent way of dealing with the possible side-effects of genetic medicine? Also, there is the other, well-known thorn – the testing of such medicine. Surely genetic medicine will need far more rigorous and extensive testing than present-day drugs. Will we find suitable platforms for such testing? And finally, systems that become tighter, more complex and more dependent on centralised protection become more vulnerable to unforeseen external threats. Will this be what homosapiens, as a society, face in future?

Ephemeral

I should get out of this rut...but until then, I shall rely on the past! Here's another short piece, written ages ago!

Mirror on the wall, still water in the sink
Show what you are, a snapshot in time;
Hand jerks uncontrolled,
A tinkle, a rush,
The moment passes, so do you;
Shards of glass scatter on the floor,
Still water swirls, ever so untrue;
Like pages torn from a book that tells its story no more
Remind you that just as they are ephemeral, so are you.

Metaphorically Speaking

End Program...

He stood alone in the penthouse. High above, away from the noise, the traffic, the people - away from everything. Everything that is except that nameless, sinking feeling that followed him everywhere, every waking moment of his life. He was done and he knew it. He looked around the hexagonal apartment - at its glass walls and fancy trimmings and as he kept looking the wall in front of him started cracking. Slowly like a cancer the crack spread throughout the fabric of the glass and then with a single tinkling crash the wall came tumbling down in pieces, the glass wall that had been painstakingly decorated with portraits of the people that had come to mean something to him in his fifty-odd years of existence. He looked at the walls to his right, the ones with the pictures of the places he had been to and the paintings of the artists he had grown to admire. The cracks spread outward slowly with a compelling inevitability and he watched in mute fascination as the places and the paintings came crashing down as well. He didn’t turn as he heard the walls behind him go down along with the shelves holding the things he had created that he valued most. Rooted, he turned to his left in time to watch the biggest of the walls go down, the one he had painted himself with his ambitions, his dreams, the places he had wanted to see, the things he had wanted to create. All around him in pieces lay his life while the sun played gently on his features caressing him, mocking him. The sinking feeling lifted. He smiled bemused at the forceful clarity with which the one thought in his head kept bouncing around. He walked to the edge lifted his arms like a diver and jumped.


Restart...

Coincidence?... I think.

You're Siddhartha!

by Hermann Hesse

You simply don't know what to believe, but you're willing to try
anything once. Western values, Eastern values, hedonism and minimalism, you've spent
some time in every camp. But you still don't have any idea what camp you belong in.
This makes you an individualist of the highest order, but also really lonely. It's
time to chill out under a tree. And realize that at least you believe in
ferries.


Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

Wonder

World-mirror hanging daintily, fragile dewdrop, on the bottom of my window-sill
Spotlight from above, sun ray finds its way through cotton fluff
Wind instrument sighing, singing and rustling, green leaf on brown stem
Ballet artist pirouettes, caught up in the breeze, piece of paper on the wind

And I simply pass by.

Where is the wonder, I wonder?

The Outsider

Like bright sunshine on
A cold bleak autumn morning
stands the outsider.