...with you...for you...always

In which Ludwig confesses...

Clearly, the same fellow (there can't be more than one such person, can there?) who comes up with those saccharine "messages" in your average Hallmark/Archies/whathaveyou greeting cards, has also been employed by the AP State Police to jazz up their website. This cousin of Madeleine Bassett is possibly to be found in the musty, file-smelling depths of the police commissionerate, occasionally referring to castor oil stained copies of the Gettysburg Address type documents, thoughtfully chewing on a pen and dribbling ink, while he comes up with such gems as "...with you...for you...always". He is kept in residence through the elegant and time tested ball and chain mechanism. His incarceration makes him crabby and irritable ever so often, and therefore has to be fed through a system of underarm bowling[1].

This post is not about Mr. Hallmark. Aeons ago, on our way back from Why Naad, an incident happened in that den of vice, Bangalore bus station. We lost cash, credit cards, license(s), PAN card etc. Mostly our fault, for leaving the wallet on the enquiry counter, like dangling a juicy full toss...

Preliminary enquiries indicated that to replace license and PAN, we would need that dreaded piece of literature that emanates from the bowels of police stations, the FIR. Being Newtonian (refer to Law I (of motion)), we let things be. After decades of living without any ID proof apart from passport, and having entered a new phase of joblessness, we got our act together and decided to start the process for replacing license and PAN card.

The whole PAN card replacement process, it turns out, is a total breeze. In the year or so that we sat on our butts, they made the whole thing automated, web-ified and so on, and all one has to do (if one has a photocopy of the original PAN card/PAN issue letter) is go online, fill in a fairly simple form, pay by credit card, take a printout, attach mugshot, mail it, and wait. Observe carefully that there is no mention of police or FIR.

The license replacement procedure, on the other hand is a pain in the posterior. One apparently needs an FIR. According to the AP Motor Vehicles Rules (1989), Chapter - II (Licensing of Drivers of Motor Vehicles), Rule 15 (Intimation when license lost or destroyed and application for duplicate) (yes, we are like this vonly), all one has to do is fill in Form LLD, pay the fee, and hey presto. No mention of FIR. However, that High Priest of RTA Shrines, the "RTA agent", tells various family members that an FIR is a necessary precondition for getting a duplicate license. So we girded our loins (disgusting as that sounds), and found out that the following steps needed to be executed:

1. Pay a fee of Rs. 100 to the Police Department at your friendly neighbourhood eSeva centre.
2. Take receipt (from Step 1 above), copy of lost license, and a letter addressed to the Inspector of Police in charge of the police station (PS) with the necessary details, and propagate rectilinearly to the PS.
3. Submit forms, get signatures vagera ityaadi, and you should be able to pick up the thingy.

What follows is a tale of what actually happened. We girded our loins (yes, it's disgusting), and

1. Went to eSeva and paid Rs. 100. Duly pocketed receipt.
2. Next day, showed up at the Begumpet PS, bright eyed and bushy tailed, with the necessary (or so we thought) paperwork.
3. Inspector gaaru informs us that they need a no objection certificate (NOC) from the Police Control Room to issue the papers.
4. *sigh* Set off for the control room. Asked at the building downstairs (where people were lined up paying challans) as to who one needs to approach to get the NOC. Directed to multi-storey building.
5. Asked the "helpful", "enquiry" chap in the lobby where one needs to go. Directed to 2nd floor.
6. Asked vacant eyed individual, directed to the "Computer Section".
7. Asked Bakaasura, and he says, "Your lucky day, dude. I'm da man. However, you needst go downstairs and get Ms. Phoolandevi to sign on your application."
8. Went downstairs and after several enquiries found oneself at the end of the line, back at the challan counter.
9. Paperwork is swallowed by one set of hands, does the rounds, and is spit out of another window by another set of hands.
10. Hurried to Bakaasura. He starts filling out the NOC, and subtly (not) angling for pocket money.
    
    "You see, yours is a Vizag license, and we can't actually issue this NOC here."
    
    "But my friend from Bihar got his license renewed in Hyderabad."
    
    "Ah, that's different, we're allowed to do that."
    ...
    "What do you do?"
    
    "Unemployed, saar."
    
    "What did you study?"
    
    "BE civil engineering, saar, Madras, saar."
    
    [We'd taken care to wear our most unobtrusive check-shirt, khaki pant, for the harmless citizen look.]
    
    Before one could say "Ix", he'd pocketed Rs. 20 and given us the certificate. We were mortified. Ears got all warm and shiny from shame and anger, at having copped out, at not having the gumption to face up to this ogre and get our schtuff done without under the counter transactions.
    
    With burning heart and a conscience that was totally sitting on left shoulder (mit halo) and frowning down, we headed back to PS.
11. We resolved to not bow to such sliminess any more (at this juncture, we must mention that we were in no inconsiderable part influenced by our readings at Fanaa, and handed all the little, sweaty (by now), pieces of paper to the Inspector, who quickly scribbled something in Elvish, and signed.
12. Handed papers over to Grima looking clerical type (out of uniform) in the Computer Section.
13. Grima says, "Oh, you need to photocopy all these. Go to Prakash Nagar and get it done and come back quickly."
14. Off we went, in the mid-afternoon blaze. Duly photocopied, trudged back to PS.
15. Grima takes papers, points to seat in reception area and says, "Wait". So we did.
16. For an age. Went back into the "Computer Section", whereupon he said, "Oh, it won't get done tonight, come back tomorrow morning." (the code words had started). Confirmed that he would be done on the morrow, and went home at 5:00 ish.
17. Girded tiggas (yes), and came back next morning, 11:00 ish.
18. Grima showed up after a bit, and said, "Wait in the reception." and disappeared.
19. Waited for close to 2 hours. SMSed the bejesus out of Kenny, who seemed to be engaged in cutting edge research (i.e. equally jobless). Kenny had lots of good advice ("You should've taken a book.", "You should've at least taken a notepad and a pen, and scribbled Thoughts.", "You should start muttering RTI audibly, so that they know who they're dealing with (i.e. citizen)." etc.)
20. At 1:00ish, went back in and found Grima. Who strikes forehead with palm and says, "Tchah! Come back in the evening, you'll definitely get it then." In the manner of Alistair Maclean characters, a medium sized blood vessel on the edge of our temple (Om...) had started to pulsate. We says to ourselves, "OK machii, this is it. Sisupaala got 100 chances, you'll get one more in the evening." and went home.
21. Meanwhile, perusals of the AP State Police Department's copious RIA page had revealed that the Assistant PIO is the Inspector of Police himself, and that the PIO is the Assistant Commissioner of Police (Begumpet Division). We duly noted this.
22. Went back in the evening. Waited in reception.
23. After an hour so of gazing at the vacuous faced guy in the reception, barged into "Computer Section". Grima, was missing.
24. Another out-of-uniform, clerical type character (looking very harassed), says (to himself), "Why did this moron (Grima) ask people to come back the very next day?" and (to us), "Come back day after tomorrow."
25. That was it. We lost it, my precious. Barged into Inspector's office. Waved papers. Expressed outrage. The dreaded (hopefully) "RTI" phrase was about to be emitted, when, to our utter and pleasant surprise, the gentleman (Insp.) calls a third Computer Section guy and tells him to deal with "this" immediately.
26. We went back to waiting in reception. Half an hour elapsed, and the suitably contrite Computer Section person comes out, hands us the certificate we need, and out we waltzed, into the sunset.

What to say? Mixed results, no? Hope, despair. Defeat, victory. Loins, tiggas. Are things getting better? Maybe... If one hadn't showed attitude (and jeans), would all this have played out in this manner? Perhaps not. What happens to people without attitude (and jeans)? Are jeans a metaphor? (Perhaps. Do ours need to be washed? Definitely.)

P.S.: We couldn't find the helpful Inspector after this whole ordeal. We wanted to wring his hands in thanks. In any case, we did the next best thing. Wrote a letter describing the role of his staff in the ordeal, and his in the salvation, and posted it off to him, his boss (ACP) and his boss (DCP).

Finis.

---

1. Thanks, Larry.

Word Verification

In which Ludwig, inspired by a passing comment from Space Bar, invents a new viral game

Everyone has come across these word verification things, right? On Blogger, Orkut, and so on. We have been pondering for years on what to make of those random pieces of string (which is typed by 7 monkeys on barbiturates sitting at the back end), when we realized what is to be done with them words.

Hear ye, hear ye. From now on, it is decreed that when you post a comment, in addition to whatever blah you have to offer, you must provide an on the spot, off the cuff, encyclopaedia entry for the word verification word.

To show what we mean, we have invented the first one (over at that famous New York reprobate's blob). Reproduced here:

definition: Kpzicie (pronounciation: zzitchy), town, pop. 6,000, Slovakia. Kpzicie is a small industrial town on the Slovakia-Hungary border, roughly 25 k.m. SSW of Kosice. Currently chiefly known for its dominance in the world lugged sprockets market, Kpzcie briefly rose to prominence in the 13th century when the voivode of Trans-Carpathia briefly toyed with establishing his capital on the outskirts, on a mound of Ottoman Turkish skulls, harvested during a punitive raid against Bayezid II (Ilderim).

Also famous for pickled gherkins.

Admittedly not very inspired, but you should've seen what Hilary and Norgay looked like when they got to the top. We trust that our discerning readers (including, and especially the marine mammal variety), will totally run with this.

So let it be written, so let it be done.

eiθ = cos θ + i sin θ? Ha ha ha...

In which Ludwig tries to find jokes rooted in serious mathematics

It's been a while since we did a post on mathematics. A young hedonist in New York posted a delightful piece about mathematical encounters on Broadway and 102^nd, and this has inspired us to dust off a few items.

Serious things first. Most Indians have heard of G. H. Hardy of course, as Srinivasa Ramanujan's correspondent, mentor, teacher, student, and friend. Robert Kanigel's biography of Ramanujan necessarily contains pages and pages of engrossing information about Hardy. The great man was an atheist, his politics was left of centre and he was a sort of maniacal cricket buff. One year his New Year resolutions were

1. Prove the Riemann hypothesis
2. Make 211 not out in the fourth innings of the last test match at the Oval [which was something like hitting a grand slam home run while behind by three runs in the ninth inning of the World Series' final game]
3. Find an argument for the nonexistence of God that will convince the general public
4. Be the first man at the top of Mt. Everest
5. Be proclaimed the first president of the U.S.S.R, of Great Britain, and Germany.
6. Murder Mussolini

Kanigel's book has another anecdote which is equally entertaining.

Another story neatly combined his love of cricket, his pleasure in the sun, his warfare with God, and his madcap bent. One of his collaborators, Marcel Reisz, was staying at the place Hardy shared with his sister in London. Hardy ordered him to step outside, open umbrella clearly in view, and yell up to God, "I am Hardy, and I am going to the British Museum." This, of course, would draw a lovely day from God, who had nothing better to do than thwart Hardy. Hardy would then scurry off for an afternoon's cricket, fine weather presumably assured.

What can you say about a man whose cricket teams include "God(F), God(S), God(HG)" (F = Father, S = Son, HG = Holy Ghost!)? His mantelpiece sported photographs of Einstein, Jack Hobbs and Lenin. Later in life, when he found his mathematical powers on the decline, he wrote A Mathematician's Apology. This "book of haunting sadness" [C. P. Snow] is actually a long essay about the uses of mathematics, the motivations of mathematicians (and indeed anyone engaged in creative work), the aesthetics of mathematics, and a reflection of his own decades long engagement with the field.

(i)

A mathematician, like a painter or a poet, is a maker of patterns. If his patterns are more permanent than theirs, it is because they are made with ideas. ... The mathematician's patterns, like the painter's or the poet's, must be beautiful; the ideas, like the colours or the words, must fit together in a harmonious way. Beauty is the first test: there is no permanent place in the world for ugly mathematics.

(ii)

The best mathematics is serious as well as beautiful--'important' if you like, but the word is very ambiguous, and 'serious' expresses what I mean much better.

(iii)

I still say to myself when I am depressed, and find myself forced to listen to pompus and tiresome people, "Well, I have done one thing you could never have done, and that is to have collaborated with both Littlewood and Ramanujan on something like equal terms."

The entire essay is available here for free download. Makes for a very thought provoking afternoon's reading.

Anyway, this was supposed to be a post about jokes rooted in serious mathematics. Here's one that we posted once already, but doesn't lose anything in a retelling. It is paraphrased from Simon Singh's Fermat's Last Enigma.

Grafitti on New York City subway wall:

xⁿ + yⁿ = zⁿ

There is no value of n>2 for which the above is true. I have found a truly remarkable proof of this, but my train is coming and I have to go...

Zeno of Elea came up with variations of his paradox, and these have given rise to possibly multiple funnies. We present a couple.

The dichotomy paradox leads to the following mathematical joke. A mathematician, a physicist and an engineer were asked to answer the following question. A group of boys are lined up on one wall of a dance hall, and an equal number of girls are lined up on the opposite wall. Both groups are then instructed to advance toward each other by one quarter the distance separating them every ten seconds (i.e., if they are distance d apart at time 0, they are d/2 at t = 10, d/4 at t = 20, d/8 at t = 30, and so on.) When do they meet at the center of the dance hall? The mathematician said they would never actually meet because the series is infinite. The physicist said they would meet when time equals infinity. The engineer said that within one minute they would be close enough for all practical purposes.

Another one is actually a cartoon, which we've been unable to unearth. So we'll just tell the joke.

[Scene: City street, ancient Greece. Two philosophers (bearded), run into each other.]
Phil I: Hey, it seems Zeno didn't come to work today...
Phil II [chuckles]: Yeah, wait till you hear his excuse!

That one is truly brilliant, we thought.

Any others?

Plugs for Local Events

Which are public interest announcements

Cell Phone

The Quest hath come to an End. The Ringtone Bearer hath been found. All sorts of Mephistophilean compromises have been made, but we are now proud owners of a Nokia E50 thingumabob.

QuizHyd

Hi,

This is to inform all you of a team quiz that is being organised on the 11th of March,2007. The details are as follows:

A General Quiz open to all members of the public.

Quizmasters: Priyambad and Raghuram

Venue: St. Francis College, Begumpet (this is located in the lane next to LifeStyle Building)

Date and Time: 11th March 2007, 10:00 am

Format: The quiz is open to all members of the general public who are interested. This quiz will follow a format in which participants will be randomly teamed up into teams of 3 at the time of the quiz itself. This is to provide all participants an equal opportunity at participating in a team quiz even if they do not have other team members in Hyderabad or even if they are new to quizzing itself. Some of the seasoned quizzers will recognise that this is the same format that has been followed very successfully at the quizzes organised by QFI, Chennai.

Prizes: Cash prizes for the top 3 teams plus gift vouchers from Odyssey Bookstore.

Entry Fee: Rs 25 per person.

In case of any clarifications please contact Nitish at 9885679460 or Priyambad at 9948453388. Please also drop a mail to quizhyd@gmail.com in case you intend on coming for the quiz. And also please forward the mail to all those who you think might be interested.

Hope to see you all there.

-Nitish

An Inconvenient Truth

THE INSTITUTION
OF ENGINEERS (INDIA)

Andhra Pradesh State
Centre

Cordially invites you to the

SCREENING OF A FILM

ON

CLIMATE CHANGE AND GLOBAL WARMING

(AN INCONVENIENT TRUTH)

(The Film Maker is
MR. AL GORE

Former Vice-President of USA

Who is an authority on Environment)

on Sunday the 11^th March, 2007 at 1030 hrs

at Visvesvaraya Bhavan, Khairatabad, Hyderabad – 500 004

A brief commentary on the Film will be made

by

Ms. JENNIE RATCLIFFE

Environmental Scientist, USA

DR V K BAWA

Founder Vice Chairman,

Hyderabad Urban Development Authority

Will introduce the Speaker

Er. D HANUMANTHA CHARY, FIE

Chairman,

Institution of Engineers (India)

A P State Centre

Will preside

                    G Chandra Mohan Reddy

                    Hony.Secretary

Celebrating Women's Day Through Poems

Event: Celebrating Women's Day through reading poems
Date & Time: Friday 9th March evening by 5:30 pm (will start on time).
Venue:
Akshara Book Shop, Block G-4.
Creative Kamal Complex,
Opposite Radhika Colony,
West Maredpally, Hyderabad. and the phone number of the venue is: 27804626.

This programme is organised for German Cultural Centre in collaboration with Akshara.

---

PS: Yes, you noticed, eh? There really isn't a public interest component in the first announcement, is there? Sue us. Sue us!

Na Jaane Kahaan Dill Kho Gayaa

In which Ludwig speaks of matters of heart

After many moons, today we made our first batch of tzatziki. Now there is a school of thought which unequivocally holds that you can't make a tzatziki without dill. Dill, as far as we can tell, is not be found in India. We have searched high and low, in river and vale and so on. Well...we looked in several Food Worlds scattered across Hyderabad, Q-Mart in Banjara Hills and Amma Naana in Raja Annamalaipuram in Madras.

Parsley, you will find, in pestilential quantities. Sage, definitely. Rosemary, most assuredly. The thyme has come for at least one of these places to stock dill. dill, dill, dill, main tere pyaar mein khoyaa..., and so on. We will be very grateful if someone can tell us where dill is to be found in peninsular India. The Orthodox School of tzatziki also holds that you need red wine vinegar. Whence, pray, are we who live in Begumpet to produce red wine vinegar from? We settled for a dash of regular vinegar.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained. With this maxim in mind, and a recipe at hand, we started. The Ludwig Heresy in the art of tzatziki making is like so:

1. Make curds. That is, boil milk, allow it to cool to body temperature, skim off the cream, add previous generation curd, let it set overnight.
2. Take a piece of fine cloth. Cheesecloth is recommended, we settled for a section of superannuated veshti. Tie the curd in it, and hang contraption over sink or a bowl, and let all the water out. This will also take a night or so. At the end, you'll be left with a very pasty kind of 'dry' curd.
3. Now more or less follow the steps in the recipe.
4. At the last moment, instead of dill, add mint. Or somesuch.

Done.

We just sampled the first batch. Must say it came out rather well, given all the dill type constraints. Maybe a little bit too much of garlic. All the better to keep Lucy Westenra at bay. If one desires to keep Lucy Westenra at bay, that is.

Anyway, we ramble. So that's that. tzatziki - check. In celeberation of matters of dill, we give you a pome.

To Manijeh
                        -Vikram Seth

O Scorpio-cat
When you have gone
My eyes will turn
To lumps of stone.

I'll look at ice
And think of how
You called it 'bairf'.
I'll eat pilao

And taste your touch
Where it won't be.
How will I bear
To read Rumi?

Raga Darbari,
The taste of dill
And all clean mirrors
Will make me ill.

Windex will lie
Where it was laid,
The record player
Sit unplayed,

And dill may grow
Ten feet in height
But will no longer
Yield delight.

At reference to
Shirazi Turks
My stricken heart
Will beat in jerks -

But worst, some random
Woman's clear laugh
Will neatly cut
My liver in half.

Nice, no? We likes.

UPDATE: Inspired by Indu and co. (see comments), we have embarked on a virtual search for dill in India. The following nuggets exist:

• Sabakshi Soppu Curry - Apparently the damn 'erb has been around for dogs years, posing as Sabakshi or Kamakshi or somesuch
• This page is disturbingly titled "Dill(Soya)". It goes on to say that there are two kinds of dill, Indian and European. It has the chemical composition of dill! And to really prove how crazy they are, they tell us that

  On steam distillation, Indian Dill yields 1.5 to 4.0 % volatile oil, while European Dill grown under Indian conditions yields 2.5 to 4.0 %.

  Steam distillation, it seems. "On steam distillation, a kitten yields 200% 20,000 decibel yowls..." Ouch.
• All India Spice Exporters Forum - Their dill page is probably the most authoritative in all the land...
• answers.com doesn't add a whole lot of new information, but check this out:

  India is the primary producer of dill seed for culinary use.

  No kidding!
• Gernot Katzer's spice pages also have a page on the elusive dill. The etymology section is fascinating.

The search continues. Dill dhoondta hai...

Odissi Odyssey

In which Ludwig descries aquatic loblollies gamboling in the distance, and reflects upon entering dotage

Sankranthi in the Circars is the time when Ludwig's family hosts and dutifully accompanies migratory friends and relatives on a tour of the Kalinga country. Hitherto, this perambulation was restricted to the fleshpots of Bhubaneswar, Puri and Konark. In 2007, however, we did things differently. Follow closely. Ooh and aah at the photographs in a suitably coy manner.

Per usual, the party found itself cautiously detraining from East Coast Express at Bhubaneswar station, early in the morning. Quite precipitately, we allowed ourselves to be conned into being driven around town by the very first cabbie we found. Not sure what the deal with Oriya cuisine is, but when we asked to be taken to a good local place for breakfast, we were led to a somewhat seedy 'Udipi' joint. Regardless, dosais were polished off, coffees were gulped down, etceteras were etceteraed (i.e. the unspeakables) and off we went. First whistle stop, the caves of Udayagiri and Khandagiri.

Udayagiri from Khandagiri

We leapt like gazelles (not) from rock to rock, and frolicked amongst the age old ruins for a while, before heading out to the temple district. First up, the amazingly stupendous Lingaraj temple. It is quite a piece of work, no one in this day and age could pull off something like this. We wandered around the courtyard, and gawked at the gopurams, while successfully fighting off a horde of pandas who pluck at your elbow in that annoying manner (ref: Jerry Seinfeld's uncle). Alas, they don't allow cameras on the premises, ergo we did the next best (possibly even better thing). Scooted over to the Brahmeswar temple, which is a smaller scale Lingaraj type thingy. Only, much cleaner quieter, and altogether more hangoutable.

Brahmeswar Temple

Next stop, Dhauli. This is apparently where "the Kalingas were completely massacred by Ashoka" (If you can, trying saying this as "Unit Vector" would've done in his class. If you have no idea what we're referring to, move on.) There's a Japanese built stupa on the hill, and at the bottom, some vandal named Ashoka had scratched some stuff onto a rock. The Archeological Survey of India (ASI) has helpfully not provided any translations. Soon, it was too hot, and we were almost in a stupor on the stupa. Geddit? In a stupor, on a stupa? [Passersby pull him off the dead horse he has been flogging...]

Even atop Dhauli, we nautical types could smell the sea. The blue yonder was in the distance, and calling. Off we sped. Heigh ho for Konark. Checked into Yatri Nivas with gardens etc., right outside the temple. Evening walk to Chandrabhaga Beach was followed by a visit to the Sun Temple. If Lingaraj was impressive, this one is simply mind-blowing. More so when it is twilight, and the tide of day trippers from Puri and Bhubaneswar is ebbing its way out to the rows of buses parked outside. As the light fades, the massive, massive, massive, (did we say massive?) massive structure stands there and changes moods. Some of which we tried to capture using our very ancient Canon Powershot S45. One thing is for sure, one definitely, definitely, and absolutely needs to spend the night at Konark. Long series of pictures follows.

Just before sunset...
Black and White
Sepia
Apres sunset...
We really, really, like this one...
...and this one

There's a dance hall type thing right in front of the main entrance. Many pillars, three corridors through which the rays of the sun fall on the deity in the sanctum sanctorum, depending on the position of the sun in the sky.

Dance Hall
Naach Amrapali, naach...or whatever
The Guardians

And this is what it looks like during the day. We got this ASI guide to do the walking tour around the temple and the grounds. Lots of gyaan imbibed, lots of "piligrims" dissuaded from pouring panchamritham on the pilasters etc.

Our time had run out. Hopped on bus to Puri. Hopped off at the bus stand. Took one look around. Screamed in unison. Rented car. Set off rectilinearly for Chilika. This brackish water lagoon is serene, beautiful, and many other good adjectives. Decanted into the Yatri Nivas at Satapada. What is it about rooms with views of water bodies? Huh? We loves.

Yatri Nivas, Satapada

Wash, lunch, prawn fry (mmm...) and then we rented a little phattphatti boat for a trip around the lagoon. You don't need to do much to be happy in Chilika. Rent a boat, head out, switch off the engine, and wait for the sun to set.

Sunset, Chilika

The icing on the cake though, is that Chilika is the home of the only lagoonal population of the Irrawady dolphin (oracella brevirostris) anywhere in the world. There are about a 100 or so of these johnnies in the lagoon, but they seem to be relatively easy to spot. Maybe they're tied to a large concrete block at the bottom. Maybe not. More likely, they apparently like to leave the lagoon every evening and head out to sea, and the only way they can do that is through this narrow channel between Satapada and a sandbar (Rajhansa). So all you have to do is park yourself somewhere in the channel in the evening, and you can see dolphins on the move. Look closely at the next photograph, which is a juxtaposition. Sun. Boat. Dolphin. Bottom left.

Sun, Boat, Irrawaddy Dolphin - A Juxtaposition

At one point, we even saw a dolphin and an osprey in the same instant. Double paisa vasool.

Update: space bar gently jogged our memory about something we'd meant to mention. The reason why we're going on and on about the oracellas is that we are big fans of Amitav Ghosh's The Hungry Tide. The Irrawaddy dolphins are a very big part of the novel, in which Ghosh somehow manages to convey at least 4 different perspectives on the environment, human rights, conservation, and development. Rather nicely we thought. Somewhat tangentially, Princess Mononoke manages to do the same, we thought. Be that as it may, "The Hungry Tide" is up there in the Ghosh list along with "In an Antique Land" and "The Calcutta Chromosome", and perhaps "Shadowlines".

Night in Satapada after the day trippers have scooted is very peaceful and soothing. There was rain, and birds, and the morning was windy and gray, and beautiful. We got parathas packed at the hotel, and rented another boat the next day, for a cross-lagoon dash to Balugan, whence we had to catch the train back home.

Lonely Tree
Lonely Sailboat
Lonely Sailboat, Net, Egret - A Juxtaposition

On the way back, we stopped off at the Nalabana Bird Sanctuary in the middle of the lake. We waded our way through the muck and walked up to the watchtower, from where Caspian tern (baby turn...), bar headed geese, pintails, shovelers, thicknees and other mysteries were seen.

Wading to Nalabana

On the way back, some genius (i.e. Ludwig) dropped his precious Powershot S45 into the murky waters of the lake. It was fished out promptly, and pictures were recovered. But since then we've been terrified of turning it on. Ergo, no more pictures...

Ended up in the metropolis of Balugan, Orissa a full 7 hours before the train. Spent this time constructively playing cards. And next morning, we were home.

Reflection upon entering dotage: The Big Three-Oh happened today. Bah.

An Introduction to Ancient Indian Naval Architecture, With Some Observations on Contemporary Popular Historiography

In which Ludwig examines some things nautical

Recent posts here have been about such frivolous claptrap that Ludwig cannot countenance any more, pieces on such drivel as reservations, love failure, emerging mobile technologies, entrepreneurship and the death penalty. Pleasurable though it was to conjure up those tidbits, we realize that our vast audience has too long been denied what they were accustomed to in the good old days. Namely, a succinct, comprehensive, well thought out, skilfully constructed, well informed, thoroughly researched, topical article on some burning issue of contemporary relevance. A blob is not just a mere pulpit on the internet from which Thomas, Richard and Sivasubramaniam Chandrasegarampillai can rail at unsuspecting passers-by about whatever catches their fancy. A blog has a greater duty, a higher purpose, a nobler ideal to live up to. It carries forward the great traditions of dissent and critical scrutiny of Zola, Rev. Dr. King Jr., The Onion, &c. It is a public space that oughtn't to be defiled by the washing of dirty linen and the cooking of kaakarakaai pulusu.

To make amends for the last few wasted months, and seeing as it is the zeroeth death anniversary of Saddam Hussein, we have decided to post a little something on history and historiography, two subjects that we have an abiding interest in. Specifically, in this thesis, we will be addressing topics in ancient Indian myth/history, and how 20th century creative sensibilities throw new light on said topics.

To a certain class of people (this author included) with a putative superior engineering education, navel architecture is an engrossing subject, even if we have been landlubbers all our life, and never even caught sight of the blue yonder. For aeons, we have sought perfection in these matters, and have not tasted success in the real world. This essay is not about our failed quest in the real world.

In the halcyon days of our boyhood, we imbibed Indian culture and values through the pores, mainly by the stratagem of gobbling up Amar Chitra Katha comics by the dozen. The long summer afternoons passed as if in a dream, interrupted only by the mysterious appearance of mangoes, gooseberries and so on at Poisson intervals. Those informative volumes introduced us to the wondrous world of Indian history and mythology mostly via memorable illustrations.

The ages passed. Some things that should not have been forgotten were lost. History became legend, legend became myth, and for two score years the comics fell off of all Ludwig's radar screens. Until one day when, in a small hole in Begumpet, Ludwig happened to find himself thumbing through some of those very tomes that had occupied his undivided attentions through those summer months, many years ago.

Things, however, had changed. Having become something of a truth seeker, he was now entranced, in a strictly academic way, by the umm...ah...illustrations of the hemm...haww...midriffs of the err...apsaras and kinnaras and so on. One realized that the Amar Chitra Kathas had had a much more formative effect on one's psyche than one had hitherto suspected.

Being public spirited, one wishes to serve one's people, and keep them informed about all such important matters. So we whipped out our Canon Powershot S45 and proceeded to photograph said volumes, and made notes about the illustrators, which follow.

A quick glance through the entire corpus reveals various levels of clarity and confidence in the depictions of the above mentioned midriffs. Is there something we can learn about the illustrator, from the manner in which he chooses (or does not, as the case may be) to wield his brush when he has to show Anasuya and Priyamvada frolicking amongst the creepers? Can we then, discern an order of merit, in which we can rank these talented artists? And having done so, can we use this order of merit as a guide in future perusals and purchases of the literature?

We will simply present the evidence here, and leave our astute readers to draw their own inferences about the work and the illustrator. And through this creative process which sublimates these external stimuli, into coherent thoughts and locus standi on this seminal issue, we hope (indeed we flatter ourselves), that our faithful readers will learn something of the construction and configuration of their own internal neural pathways and, perhaps, arrive at that pinnacle of Self Understanding, from whence it is very hard to climb down without oxygen cylinders and broken in shoes.

Be that as it may, we move on to the exhibits themselves.

P.B.Kavadi The work on hand is Kalidasa's "Shakuntala". P.B. Kavadi's illustrations are marked by very clean lines; soulful, fish-like, eyes and almost sculptural body types. When we turn to the first page of the "Shakuntala", we are struck by the courage the illustrator displays in depicting the apsara Menaka's considerable charms.

We note the vividity with which the midriff is depicted, and it gives us hope for the future. Alas, it is not to be. Perhaps the artist's courage fails him, after the first flush of valour, and we find subsequently that the midriffs are marked by a marked reluctance to firmly make a statement.





In an effort to determine whether Kavadi's reluctance is a temporary aberration manifested only in the "Shakuntala", we drew samples from "Malavikagnimitra" as well.



And we are disappointed yet again. The artist's style is consistent, it was only the first panel from "Shakuntala" that was the aberration. We move on...

Pratap Mullick Once again, we have a Kalidasa play to base our observations on. "Vikramorvasiyam" is illustrated by Pratap Mullick.



Immediately, we see that indeed, each illustrator has his own style. If Kavadi's is marked by the cleanliness of the lines, Mullick's distinguishing attribute is the classicism he brings to the drawings. The drapiness of robes, the waspiness of waists, the wideness of hips - all well attested to in classical Indian poetic tradition. Once again, we note how the first panel offers hope, in our particular area of interest. Urvashi, we find is exquisite, and we pray that the theme will continue in the inside pages.



Hatha vidhi!! While Kavadi's pictures inside the book at least had a smidgen of ink where a navel should've been, Mullick's Aushinari is devoid of even a blemish. She looks like Damien Thorn's twin sister, very weird.

Ram Waerkar We now move from the realm of pure fiction, to someone who straddles the world of myth and history. We have two samples of Ram Waerkar's illustrations to consider. The first is from "Surya", the story of the sun god.



Waerkar's style seems to be via media between Kavadi's and Mullick's. The clean lines are there, the classicism is conspicuous, and glory of glories, in an internal panel, Waerkar has courageously put an unmistakable dot, where it should be. So much for myth.



Waerkar's style when he draws the story of "Rani Durgavati", is almost wholly different. Gone are the curves and the exaggerations. The pictures have a gritty, almost newsreel feel, the stomping of boots and the clash of musketry is almost palpable. We see that once again Waerkar has not shirked in his duty to art and reality, and wielded his pen or brush with conscientiousness. In summary, it may be said that Waerkar is, while not profligate in his depictions of the midriff, true to anatomy and his oeuvre when he does engage with the subject.

Yusuf Bangalorewalla We conclude with a series of 4 panels from Yusuf Bangalorewalla's "Mirabai". Another historical figure, another recalcitrant artist. The images are breathtaking (we found), and on the spectrum of courageousness, Bangalorewalla lies somewhere between Kavadi and Waerkar.










In conclusion, we find the order of merit to be as follows:

1. Waerkar: For his versatility and courage
2. Bangalorwalla: For the aesthetic, and the nascent ability (that needs to find expression) to be true
3. Kavadi and Mullick. Take a stand, gentlemen. Take a stand, gentlemen, take a stand!

And with these "points to ponder", we at the Choultry wish you all a Happy New Year & c. See you on the other side...

Erratum: The title of this post should read "An Introduction to Ancient Indian Navel Architecture, With Some Observations on Contemporary Popular Historiography". The error is regretted.

Genesis - Initiating Innovations

A plug for a fellow Gold Mandarin Duck and the alma mater: Check out Genesis. Brief dope follows.

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GENESIS – INITIATING INNOVATIONS
A Social Entrepreneurship Business Plan Competition

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Indian Institute of Technology Madras, Aavishkaar India Micro Venture Capital fund, Tata Consultancy Services, and MIT IDEAS Competition, USA, jointly announce "Genesis", a Business Plan Contest in Social Entrepreneurship that will identify and support innovative business ideas targeted at addressing a social cause.

Winning teams will receive up to Rs 3 lakhs in seed funding to implement their ideas.

The competition is open to all students and working professionals (including NGOs) who have ideas that are innovative, feasible and can benefit society, with the single proviso that 50% of every team that enters this competition should be students. The contest is designed in 3 stages: In Stage 1, registered teams can attend a series of workshops at IIT-Madras on January 13-14, and submit executive summaries of their socially relevant business ideas by Jan 17, 2007. Workshops will provide participants with specific business planning skills as well as general social entrepreneurial insights. Stage 2 would see selected teams refining and developing complete Business Plans. Stage 3 envisions the presentation and evaluation of the final submissions at IIT-Madras, with the finale of awards slated for Feb 26.

The Genesis website - www.genesis.iitm.ac.in contains more information on this competition. Registration and initial submission can be done through the website. The website includes a ‘Collaboration’ section designed to help participants find team-mates with complimentary ideas or skill sets. If you have business-related skills or are interested in crafting a business plan, but do not have a socially relevant idea, you can use the ‘Collaboration’ forum or contact us through the Genesis website. We will then try and connect you with people who have innovative ideas but need help in crafting a business plan.

Genesis will provide those with ideas, or even the beginning of an idea, with assistance in various stages of their project lifecycle. The gamut of facilitation services include the creation of an innovation ecosystem and environment for idea generation, technical mentoring, a forum for collaboration, and project guidance and financial aid including seed capital.

So if you are a budding entrepreneur with social commitment, looking for a channel, collaboration, or mentoring, we urge you to visit the Genesis website and participate in this year’s competition.

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Room With A View, With Some Observations On Gadgets, And A Picture Of Ludwig

Chez Ludwig, despite its concrete jungle location, has a moderately pleasing view. Some greenery, some billboards, some filth. A little bit of everything. The discerning reader will no doubt have spotted what is special about this picture.


And this one...


No? Still see nuffink? Look closely. We have helpfully placed striking yellow and blue rectangles. Look inside the rectangles.

Still no?

Well, so there we were, dissolutely plying the toothbrush in the oral cavity on a Sunday midmorning, as one normally does, when we glimpsed aerial activity in the middle distance. Stumble in, grab scope, camera, and stumble back to window. Which is the story of those pictures. Anyway, the blue and yellow rectangles magnified.

Yellow:


Blue:


Ladeej and jantalbhainses, we give you, live and hot from Begumpet, Hyderabad, a bevy of Little Green Bee-eaters (merops orientalis). These flitty things aren't exactly uncommon, but bloody fun to watch, as they take off periodically and dart about dementedly in search of...umm...bees. Almost beginning to wish we had a better camera...

In other ornithological news, the Birdwatchers Society Of Andhra Pradesh (BSAP) conducted their first ever "bird race" last Sunday. The very intrepid (1) Sheetal has an in-detail blow-by-blow i-was-there account of the proceedings. Teams spotted as many as 104 different species in and around Hyderabad, which is stunning, to say the least. To think that this primeval lump of barren Deccan Plateau...(shuts up hastily lest the lynch mob arrives).

We couldn't go to the race, nope, we couldn't. We were off running the Hyderabad 10k road race that same day. We ran this race last year, in the company of a curious sandbagging Irrawady dolphin, who this year thankfully spared us the agony of watching the clouds of dust as she took off at the end.

For this edition, we managed to get around 20 unwitting souls from work to sign up. We wended our way through Brahmanwadi at the crack of dawn, crossed the tracks and found ourselves at People's Plaza. The run was supposed to start at 7:00, but what with the dignitaries getting escorted onstage by each other (yes, there was an infinite loop of escorting-dignitaries-onstage), the crowd going nuts (right!) at the sight of killadiyon ka killadi (2), Sameera Reddy, Subbarami Reddy (3), and other Reddys, the thing didn't kick off till 7:20 or so. The crowd seemed a lot smaller than last year, there was no danger of fallschirmjäger sedimenting on our heads from the heavens, and there were portable loos (big, big improvement over last year, although lots of people perhaps hadn't figured out what the telephone booths were for at a road race!).

So we all set off, and we took pictures as usual. Here's one from Tank Bund, with little cute sailboats and stuff. It was a very nice day for a morning lun, no sun and all.


And, here's that much awaited mugshot of Ludwig Himself, in the flesh, somewhere between the end of Tank Bund and the Sanjeevaiah Park gates:


Yes, that's us. Except for the head, of course (the size is just about right). You see, this Predator with a serious yen for dum biryani, was in the process of materializing right in front of us, as the picture was being taken. Tchah. [Readers will be glad to know that Ludwig did not come to any harm. Pred courteously requested directions to Paradise, and in true Hyderabadi fashion, instead of actually giving him the straight and narrow path, we did the decent thing and told him how we thought he ought to go about the getting-to-Paradise algorithm, "Aap aisa karo...." Pred thanked us with a slap on the back [Note to self: Remove icky talon thing from between shoulderblades when showering next], and slithered off towards RTC Crossroads.]

Phew. Anyway, there are a couple of things to note (apart from the sexy, curvaceous looks) in the above picture. Which brings us to our final set of gadgets. Note the belt. This is a FuelBelt from the training-for-Marine-Corps-Marathon days. We whip it out once a year, mainly to hold camera, money and so on on these little runs.

Also, observe what is strapped to our left wrist. This is the latest baby of them all. It is what is called a Garmin Forerunner 301.


It's an inspire-fat-Ludwigs-to-run thingumabob. Has a GPS receiver which shrewdly plots your every move; a heart rate monitor which, with a steady, unblinking, unambiguous "0" where it should read "165", will clearly indicate to you that, you're in fact, dead. In case this crucial aspect of your existence had escaped your attention, engrossed as you were in following that item in tight red tracksuit, scooting up those impossible steps in the KBR Park circuit. So this sexpot (gadget) can store boatloads of data, and lets you do a bunch of stuff. You can download the data and view on your desktop (as in the below, which shows a run around KBR Park):


It computes elevation gain and loss (look closely, there is a picture below):


And when you hook it up to MotionBased, you can quickly upload all your data, do all kinds of analyses, and plot your path against Google Earth. Check out our new running log. The gory 10k details are available, and our final exhibit, a shot of the Google Map for the 10k, generated from the running log:


We loves the technology.

Finis.

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1. Intrepid for reasons including introducing a colour-blind, tone-deaf, biologically inept Ludwig to a hapless BSAP.

2. MMKR digression: "Dai, avan jagath jaala killadi da..." - Thanks to all 2 of you who giggled at this blast from the past.

3. Couldn't find a decent link for Mr. Reddy, but Google revealed this parliamentary debate. Snippet:

DR. T. SUBBARAMI REDDY (VISAKHAPATNAM): ...I would like to say that 17,000 mws of power was the only increase in the Eighth Plan. As far as the Ninth Plan is concerned, already one year is over and the Government is proposing 40,000 mws of power generation. Perhaps, it may be very difficult. The entire country is reeling under the shortage of power. The prosperity and progress of the country depends on the power generation. So, I would like to say that all the 545 Members must stand for power production.

MR. CHAIRMAN : Dr. Reddy, you are having extraordinary powers. You can contribute.

... (Interruptions)

DR. T. SUBBARAMI REDDY : I sleep only for four hours because I am having extra powers. I am active for 20 hours with different social, political, spiritual and cultural activities. (Interruptions).

Rumi

Recycling a very old post we did, aeons ago, in a different place, in a different avatar.

Born in the 13th century AD in Balkh, Afghanistan, Jelaluddin Balkhi's family fled the invading Mongols to Roman Anatolia (hence "Rumi") in modern day Turkey sometime between 1215 and 1220. Rumi was a Sufi sage, professor of religion, philosopher, poet all rolled into one. More about Rumi at the following sites:

• The "official" website, maintained by his descendants
  
• A biography
  
• Another site
  
• There's an annual festival in Chapel Hill, North Carolina, USA

One of the most significant events in Rumi's life was his meeting the wandering dervish Shams of Tabriz (Shams-e-Tabriz is a term that seems to come up in various ghazals/qawwalis). Their encounter had a profound effect on Rumi and his friendship and association with Shams inspired much of his work. Shams's disappearance (some say murdered by Rumi's jealous son) was a bereavement which egged Rumi on to greater heights.

The following verses are from Coleman Barks' translation of Rumi and his book is quite well done.

#1

We have a huge barrel of wine, but no cups.
That's fine with us. Every morning
we glow and in the evening we glow again.

They say there's no future for us. They're right.
Which is fine with us.

#2

I would love to kiss you.
The price of kissing is your life.

Now my loving is running toward my life shouting,
What a bargain, let's buy it.

#3

Come to the orchard in Spring.
There is light and wine, and sweethearts
in the pomegranate flowers.

If you do not come, these do not matter.
If you do come, these do not matter.

#4

The mystery does not get clearer by repeating the question,
nor is it bought with going to amazing places.

Until you've kept your eyes
and your wanting still for fifty years,
you don't begin to cross over from confusion.

#5

Listen to presences inside poems,
Let them take you where they will.

Follow those private hints,
and never leave the premises.

Listen to the story told by the reed,
of being separated.

"Since I was cut from the reedbed,
I have made this crying sound.

Anyone apart from someone he loves
understands what I say.

Anyone pulled from a source
longs to go back.

At any gathering I am there,
mingling in the laughing and grieving,

a friend to each, but few
will hear the secrets hidden

within the notes. No ears for that.
Body flowing out of spirit,

Spirit up from body: no concealing
that mixing. But it's not given us

to see the soul. The reed flute
is fire, not wind. Be that empty."

Hear the love fire tangled
in the reed notes, as bewilderment

melts into wine. The reed is a friend
to all who want that fabric torn

and drawn away. The reed is hurt
and salve combining. Intimacy

and longing for intimacy, one
song. A disastrous surrender

and a fine love, together. The one
who secretly hears this is senseless.

A tongue has one customer, the ear.
A sugarcane flute has such effect

because it was able to make sugar
in the reedbed. The sound it makes

is for everyone. Days full of wanting,
let them go by without worrying

that they do. Stay where you are
inside such a pure, hollow note.

Every thirst gets satisfied except
hat of these fish, the mystics,

who swim a vast ocean of grace
still somehow longing for it!

No one lives in that without
being nourished every day.

But if someone doesn't want to hear
the song of the reed flute,

it's best to cut conversation
short, say good-bye, and leave.

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1. Reminds us rather of a Hillaire Belloc nugget:

How did the party go in Portman Square?
I cannot tell you: Juliet was not there.

And how did Lady Gaster's party go?
Juliet was next to me and I do not know.

Das Kapital (Punishment)

Wrote this over in the comments section of Mango Indian's post on a recent death penalty case, realized that we haven't posted in ages, and that the comment itself is long enough to count as a post, so copium pastum est.

Moné [Moganlal accent here], the death penalty is wrong. Period. No matter who the accused is or what the circumstances are. This is not coming from an ethical/moral or crime reduction standpoint ("We don't have the right to give life, so we don't have the right to take it." and the "Death penalty really doesn't deter capital crime" type arguments which have varying degrees of merit in themselves). The death penalty is wrong simple because it doesn't have an 'Undo'/'Ctrl + z' type facility.

The death penalty is intended to be used in the 'rarest of the rare' cases. Also courts constantly take cognizance of extenuating circumstances when deciding on a sentence, and often enough we see a lower court's 'gallows'-happy decision being overturned in a higher court. Does that mean that this person is suddenly not that guilty? Tacitly the system is admitting to the possibility that it was wrong the first time it sentenced someone, so what's to say it couldn't be wrong a couple of more times (Supreme Court, the President)?

The point is that you never know when extenuating circumstance comes to light. What if you pop off some sucker in what seems like an open-and-shut case and find out later that he was being blackmailed (in some suitably coercive manner) at the time that he committed the crime? Almost certainly this would've been seen as an extenuating factor, had it been known before, and perhaps the sentence wouldn't have been as harsh. If the person is alive, at the very least, the state/society can attempt to compensate him/her for loss of liberty etc. If he/she is dead, you can do precisely diddly squat.

There are any number of such scenarios that could happen. Isn't US judicial history is littered with cases where people were pulled off death row after years because something new came up?

The other argument against the death penalty (and also against other punishments) in India is the manifest unfairness of the way in which it is awarded. We're yet to see the Manu Sharma types (to use an example) swaying delicately in the monsoon breeze on a gibbet, whereas the Dhananjay Chatterjees who can't afford snazzy legal teams seem to be baalti tannify-ing more regularly (Is there someplace where we can get a consolidated list of all the death penalty executions in India, with case details?) This is a whole other can of worms...

Finally, there is the argument (that reeks of Taurean ordure) that you hear from the morally indignant and outraged "tax paying public" (of the sort you see on "We The People" on NDTV) that the society and their precious taxes oughtn't to be paying for keeping a slimeball alive, why waste that money and so on. The right way to look at it is that it isn't a case of the taxpayers money going towards keeping some manifestly evil person alive; it should be treated as a cost that society collectively agrees to pay to ensure that some potentially innocent person is never done away with. We keep paying 'preventive' costs of this sort all the time (for example, we pay people who guard politicians), and there's no reason why we shouldn't do it in this case.

Really, its a totally open-and-shut case. The fact that the death penalty's got to go is as trivially obvious as the fact that Article 377 has got to go.

TAILPIECE
Last year, we were fourth and this time we managed to slime into 3rd place. We must be getting better...at picking teammates.

ADDENDUM I

Google has revealed the following resources:

• The Death Penalty Information page for high school students. Seems like a useful starter resource. Presents pro and con arguments from various perspectives. For example, con:
  

  The death penalty alone imposes an irrevocable sentence. Once an inmate is executed, nothing can be done to make amends if a mistake has been made. There is considerable evidence that many mistakes have been made in sentencing people to death. Since 1973, at least 121 people have been released from death row after evidence of their innocence emerged. During the same period of time, over 982 people have been executed. Thus, for every eight people executed, we have found one person on death row who never should have been convicted.

  Pro:

  There is no proof that any innocent person has actually been executed since increased safeguards and appeals were added to our death penalty system in the 1970s. Even if such executions have occurred, they are very rare. Imprisoning innocent people is also wrong, but we cannot empty the prisons because of that minimal risk. If improvements are needed in the system of representation, or in the use of scientific evidence such as DNA testing, then those reforms should be instituted. However, the need for reform is not a reason to abolish the death penalty.

  The site also has brief descriptions of various methods of execution, as applied in the US.


• Prodeathpenalty.com argues for the death penalty. Especially interesting seems to be the section on claims about innocent people being sentenced to death.


• Amnesty USA and Amnesty International have anti capital punishment pages.


• The American Civil Liberties Union is also anti death penalty, but has a different and more class/race oriented perspective.

  Almost all people on death row could not afford to hire an attorney. The quality of legal representation is a better predictor of whether or not someone will be sentenced to death than the facts of the crime.
  
  Race often plays a role in determining a capital sentence. Over 80% of capital cases involve white victims, even though nationally, only 50% of murder victims are white.



• ReligiousTolerance.Org has its take, as it must.


• YesDeathPenalty.com says

  Here you can read a serious and comprehensive defence of The Capital Punishment

  and

  Welcome to the greatest website in Europe which support the Death Penalty!
  A criminal that in brutality has taken somebody’s life has no natural right to his own life.



• The Death Penalty Information Center seems to be the target of critiques of anti death penalty positions.


• And finally, to make things a bit bizzarre, at Dead Man Eating, you can read all about US crimes and executions, and what the condemned ordered for their last meals, some of which is actually quite delicious sounding.
  

Rain in Begumpet

Long time, no photoblog. There's some sort of depression in the Bay type production in progress, and it has been raining in Begumpet. Yesterday evening was rather pretty.


The...ah...lofty spires of the Hyderabad Public School.


Mmm. Sunset.


Meanwhile, , this fellow is still lurking in the azadirachta indica betwixt Mayur Marg and SP Road. Ye of little faith...


TAILPIECE

Hallelujah! Messrs. Dewey, Cheatem & Howe are on Worldspace [2:30 p.m. IST, Sundays, NPR]. Bit bizarre to be listening to Car Talk on a Sunday afternoon in Begumpet.

Declarations

Recent events have triggered a re-reading of Sowing the Wind, whence we have gleaned the following gem.

Lord Arthur Balfour paid only one visit to Palestine, for inaugarating some university or something like that. As he disembarked, the customs official at Jaffa supposedly asked him, "Have you anything else to declare, Mr. Balfour?"

Heh :)

Wanted

We need a new cell phone. Il Professori gave us hell this weekend (in an NRI accent, "Tum India ka beggar log is type ka phone leke kya ukhaadta hai" and so on...) for not having a fully functional phone. He showed us his. It looks like the Starship Enterprise's command console. We are more modest. Desired specs below. Will our readers (numberless as the sands of Araby), please help us find one?

Brand: Nokia
Type: Monoblock, candy bar, whatever...
Camera: NO!!!
Connectivity: USB, Infrared, Bluetooth
Java/J2ME: MIDP 2.0, CLDC 1.1 device, with decent max JAR size and RAM
Misc: Pluggable, extensible, memory type things; a decent size (500+) address book; FM radio; battery life; speakerphone and so on.

Dream phone: E60. Costs upward of Rs. 19,000.

6233 will work fine too. Except that it too is pricey. Rs. 14,000 types.

The 6230i is a recent entrant in these sweepstakes, but not sure what it costs.

Finally, the ideal value-for-money phone would've been the redoubtable 6021. Unfortunately, they don't make this phone, or anything like it any more. [Note to self: Send booby trap with thermonuclear warhead to an address in Finland.]

Help!!

PS: Under duress, we're willing to relax the "no camera" restriction. Bleah.

PPS: We're dangerously on the verge of dropping this whole Nokia obsession and getting the muchly delicious looking Motorola SLVR.

A Poem

To His Lost Lover
    -Simon Armitage

Now they are no longer
any trouble to each other

he can turn things over, get down to that list
of things that never happened, all of the lost

unfinishable business.
For instance ... for instance,

how he never clipped and kept her hair, or drew a hairbrush
through that style of hers, and never knew how not to blush

at the fall of her name in close company.
How they never slept like buried cutlery -

two spoons or forks cupped perfectly together,
or made the most of heavy weather -

walked out into hard rain under sheet lightning,
or did the gears while the other was driving.

How he never raised his fingertips
to stop the segments of her lips

from breaking the news,
or tasted the fruit,

or picked for himself the pear of her heart,
or lifted her hand to where his own heart

was a small, dark, terrified bird
in her grip. Where it hurt.

Or said the right thing,
or put it in writing.

And never fled the black mile back to his house
before midnight, or coaxed another button of her blouse,

then another,
or knew her

favourite colour,
her taste, her flavour,

and never ran a bath or held a towel for her,
or soft-soaped her, or whipped her hair

into an ice-cream cornet or a beehive
of lather, or acted out of turn, or misbehaved

when he might have, or worked a comb
where no comb had been, or walked back home

through a black mile hugging a punctured heart,
where it hurt, where it hurt, or helped her hand

to his butterfly heart
in its two blue halves.

And never almost cried,
and never once described

an attack of the heart,
or under a silk shirt

nursed in his hand her breast,
her left, like a tear of flesh

wept by the heart,
where it hurts,

or brushed with his thumb the nut of her nipple,
or drank intoxicating liquors from her navel.

Or christened the Pole Star in her name,
or shielded the mask of her face like a flame,

a pilot light,
or stayed the night,

or steered her back to that house of his,
or said 'Don't ask me to say how it is

I like you.
I just might do.'

How he never figured out a fireproof plan,
or unravelled her hand, as if her hand

were a solid ball
of silver foil

and discovered a lifeline hiding inside it,
and measured the trace of his own alongside it.

But said some things and never meant them -
sweet nothings anybody could have mentioned.

And left unsaid some things he should have spoken,
about the heart, where it hurt exactly, and how often.