I Know Him!!!

http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/city/patna/Patna-boy-selected-for-NASA-award/articleshow/6174696.cms

No one told me ... but good ol' trusted TimesOfIndia never fails to report "Good News" (and as usual, never fails to make the obligatory typo - BBM should be read as BBN).

Quoting ...

Saikat Guha to have been selected for the NASA Tech Brief Award in recognition of his contribution to the National Space Programme and to the mission of the Jet Propulsion Laboratory, US.

Guha, presently employed as a scientist at the US-based B B M Technology has been selected for this award by the NASA Inventions and Contributions Board chairman for his work on Phase-conjugate receiver for Gaussian-state quantum illumination.

It's impossible for me to call-and-congratulate him right now and he should be far too busy with talks and accolades to acknowledge matters of little significance as this, but nevertheless ... I used to know that guy, at a place far away and at a time far ago. What a year for ya!

Misunderstood

(read thrice, first to parse, next decipher, last to grasp. there's aint no typo.)

Raining Hard.
Heard Loud "Help".
First Ran Fast.
Then Understood.
Missunderstood.

PS: No... this ne'er happened. When I am counting raindrops I lose my hearing.

unnerving

If it's bad to feel bad,
It's worse to feel nothing!

The doctor prescribed me dry-heat and one exercise to beat the upper-back pain that I was endowed with; may Hippocrates give the doc lots of fame and fortune but the cool doc simply went overboard - he directed me to swallow little cyan split-pea size Amitriptyline Hydrochloride pills, right before dinner.

Those dang rotten pebbles takes my breath away, and any strength in my limbs, and any consciousness even an awaken idiot may have, for a lull stretch of 12 hours! Which means, given that I am used to late dinner around 11 or 12, I am unable to stand on my feet till noon the next day.

Sick of my sickness, I searched the internet; then, this wretched self came to know that he is experiencing one of the side effects of this anti-depressant! Yes, that's what this pill is commonly used for, and I suppose was given in this case to soothe the neural wires snaking through my spine.

The whole day is now spent with vacant stares and not really understanding what good or bad is happening around. Can't even think straight nowadays, I am worried that when I will finally wake up, I will find I have lost my heartbeat.

Please remind me who you are, if you find me loitering on road. Thank you for asking how I am.

Also I don't have 500 $million

Received this in a fwded mail from an old pal "Tiger Woods: A Cautionary Tale For All American Men" written by Tom Leykis, an American radio talk-show host.

I never listened to Tom Leykis's show when I was in Boston. I did listen to radio, and quite a bit to the talk shows on NPR, and I would have listened to Tom had I known about his show. Like my identity, internet is able to wipe my location with lavendar-fresh finish; so now that I know, maybe I will.

I will not leave a link here ... if you are interested, you can easily find his blog and the above mentioned article. Couple of excerpts to excite you.

...snip...

Just a guess from observing his demeanor and hearing his very controlled interviews (not to mention his painfully unrevealing “apology” press conference): Tiger is someone who probably had very little time for a social life growing up. Guy friends, girlfriends, and all that goes with that were likely shoved aside for early mornings hitting ball after ball after ball with his dad. Did he develop like a normal American teenager? Did he make out in the backseat of his car with girls with whom he went to school? Did he go to his prom? Did he ever just hook up? I tend to doubt it.

...snip...

The real truth about marriage is something that men who look like beaten dogs whisper to each other at Hooters, at strip clubs, at sports bars, at bowling alleys, and even over the cubicle walls at offices across America: marriage is for men who cannot afford to live parallel lives with hot women in expensive hotel rooms. It is for men who need someone to share the rent or the mortgage payment. It is for farmers who need more farmhands when they become too old to till the soil. It is for men who grew up too lazy to clean their places, and so, as a result, are willing to take on a 180-pound mommy stand-in who will clean it. Marriage is not for buff, famous, educated men who have 500 million dollars and the freedom to do almost anything they want.

...snip...

Tiger Woods had no business getting married or having any children at all so early in his life. And, if you are a successful young man in America who has worked so hard to get where you are, neither do you.

There are lots of comments ... mostly supportive, on this article in his blog site. Right now I don't have time to turn toss and ponder over his assertions. But scary as they sound, I made a quick run down. After all, I am lazy to clean my place and don't stay with my mom any more.

* male - CHECK (last checked - right now!)
* young - CHECK (30 ... well ... sorta)
* successful - CHECK (kinda ... I am not homeless and can afford butter for my bread)
* worked hard - CHECK (I'm single so I have no other option)
* American - FALSE (Yay!)

/me feels so relieved!

a PhD student

Ahoy! Here is a gem of a picture which my venerable colleague BK dug out from her knapsack of past photos. She calls it a "blast from the past". Quoting her (without prior permission which I am sure she would have granted):

We probably clicked this before Bera left the country. Thought you guys would like a copy of a typical goofiing-around-in-psy-221 pic :)

I think this picture should be preserved in some kind of PhD showcase. It shows all the primary signs of the workplace of a (tenured) PhD student - 2 computers (one displaying Google to whom all PhD students owe their allegiance), a wall with lots of random postings, open books and papers, a busy shelf with useful cutlery and most important, hostile peers who keep you alert!

PS: That is Ilir in the picture trying to "frame" me. He is a sucker for free stuff! Beware.

Mists of Morn

When all eyes are shut, mine are wide open. Then when the million pairs flutter wide, my weary self feels watched and dozes off.

"Sleeping off" one's fear is a wonderful trick I had learnt many months ago and have been using it since then. It works. So much has happened over the past couple of years, that taking stock of those, repeatedly every night, tires my brain cells past a good physical exhaustion. New place, new faces, new air, new goal. Natural seclusion. Self-rebuilding is a defence tactic that I never chose as Elective. Some people are exceptionally good at adjusting to the container they are placed in and some, like me, try to climb out and find their old earthern barrel dumped in some corner or smashed out of earth. Unless someone puts a post-it on their eyelid "The world is still as gay as yore".

Thus, woken up just now at 10 in the morning, I feel a hangover. This is probably the worse part, because I need to sleep little more ... till its noon and I get busy in mundane work to not think anymore. Thinking is sinking. My medication: Movement 2, BWV 1056, in piano.

In the book I am currently reading, rather in the last chapter that I read, Pip is moving out of his home to become a bespoke gentleman, as wished upon by an unknown beneficiary. His worst night is bestowed just before his best to come days. The final journey out of his village is long. He thinks he can always go back at the next halt but never does.

It was a hurried breakfast with no taste in it. I got up from the meal, saying with a sort of briskness, as if it had only just occurred to me, "Well! I suppose I must be off!" and then I kissed my sister who was laughing and nodding and shaking in her usual chair, and kissed Biddy, and threw my arms around Joe's neck. Then I took up my little portmanteau and walked out. The last I saw of them was, when I presently heard a scuffle behind me, and looking back, saw Joe throwing an old shoe after me and Biddy throwing another old shoe. I stopped then, to wave my hat, and dear old Joe waved his strong right arm above his head, crying huskily "Hooroar!" and Biddy put her apron to her face.

I walked away at a good pace, thinking it was easier to go than I had supposed it would be, and reflecting that it would never have done to have had an old shoe thrown after the coach, in sight of all the High Street. I whistled and made nothing of going. But the village was very peaceful and quiet, and the light mists were solemnly rising, as if to show me the world, and I had been so innocent and little there, and all beyond was so unknown and great, that in a moment with a strong heave and sob I broke into tears. It was by the finger-post at the end of the village, and I laid my hand upon it, and said, "Good by, O my dear, dear friend!"

Heaven knows we need never be ashamed of our tears, for they are rain upon the blinding dust of earth, overlying our hard hearts. I was better after I had cried than before,—more sorry, more aware of my own ingratitude, more gentle. If I had cried before, I should have had Joe with me then.

So subdued I was by those tears, and by their breaking out again in the course of the quiet walk, that when I was on the coach, and it was clear of the town, I deliberated with an aching heart whether I would not get down when we changed horses and walk back, and have another evening at home, and a better parting. We changed, and I had not made up my mind, and still reflected for my comfort that it would be quite practicable to get down and walk back, when we changed again. And while I was occupied with these deliberations, I would fancy an exact resemblance to Joe in some man coming along the road towards us, and my heart would beat high.—As if he could possibly be there!

We changed again, and yet again, and it was now too late and too far to go back, and I went on. And the mists had all solemnly risen now, and the world lay spread before me.

Pip has to move forward. His past will be always there, and ingratitude towards it will only make him suffer more. But he can build upon them and soar higher clouds. I am yet to see what happens to him next, but I wish he becomes a better person now that holy waters washed his clumsy cheeks.

Picture above:
Taken at about 10am (!) in India (winter). Lone stranger amidst mist.

Kolkata Intellectuals

Kolkata Intellectuals
----------------------

কলকাতায় বিদ্বজনের অভাব নাই । জ্ঞান-অজ্ঞানের সীমানা যতদূর সম্প্রসারিত করা যায়, এই শহরের জল-বাতাস-ধুঁয়াবর্তিত স্ত্রী-পুরুষ পাইলেই তাহার সুযোগ লইয়া থাকেন । তথ্য, তত্ত্ব এবং জ্ঞান সব এক রোয়াকে বসিয়া, এক ঠোঙা হইতে মুড়ি খাইতে খাইতে সকল বিষয়ের চর্চা করেন ।

সর্ব-সমন্বয়ের এমন শহরে সংবাদমাধ্যম বেশ কিছুদিন যাবত্ একটি নূতন শব্দের প্রচলন করিয়াছেন - "বুদ্ধিজীবি" । বিগত ২-৩ বৎসর ধরিয়া মধ্যমধ্যই শুনিতেছি, নানারূপ সংবেদনশীল ঘটনার পক্ষে-বিপক্ষে ইনারা মিছিল করিতেছেন, সংবাদমাধ্যমে মতামত দিতেছেন, "শিক্ষিত"-"মার্জিত" রূপে প্রতিবাদ করিতেছেন । সংবাধমাধ্যমদীয় সংজ্ঞা অনুযায়ী তুলি-কলম যাত্রা-নাটক দূরদর্শন-বায়োস্কোপ ইত্যাদি যাহাদের ধ্যান-জ্ঞান, সেই সকল কলাকুশলী উক্ত দলভুক্ত । উনাদের শুভ ইচ্ছার প্রতি আমার আন্তরিক শুভেচ্ছা রইলো ।

কেবল ধ্বন্দ হয় এই ভাবিয়াই যে এই প্রকার জাতিভেদের কি প্রয়োজন ছিল ? নিজ নিজ ক্ষেত্রে বুদ্ধি সকল মানুষ প্রয়োগ করিয়া থাকেন, এমনকি সাংসারিক ক্ষেত্রে (পুরুষ)বুদ্ধিজীবিদের ঘরণী অনেক বেশী বুদ্ধিমত্তা । "বুদ্ধিজীবি" শব্দপ্রয়োগে যে প্রচ্ছন্ন অপমান ধ্বনিত হয়, তাহা বড় প্রকট, বেদনাদায়ক । বহুবৎসর আগে এমনই আরেক শব্দের প্রচলন ঘটিয়াছিল উক্তমাধ্যমকর্ত্তৃক - "জীবনমুখী গান" !!! সেই সময় সাহস করিয়া জনৈকা সুবিখ্যাত শিল্পী প্রতিবাদ করিয়াছিলেন - "আমরা কি মরণমুখী গান গাই ?" (অপ্রাসঙ্গিক হইলেও পুলকিত হইতে হয় জানিয়া যে, মন্ত্যবের কিছু দিন পরেই উনি এক জীবনমুখী গায়কের সহিত একই মঞ্চে অনুষ্ঠানে অংশ নেন) ।

যে শহরে পৃথিবীর অপর প্রান্তের ঘটনার প্রতিবাদে ধিক্কারমিছিল হয়, যে শহরে ক্রীড়া প্রতিযোগিতায় নিম্নমানের প্রদর্শনের জন্য স্বদলের নিন্দা অথবা উচ্চমানের প্রদর্শনের‌ জন্য বিপক্ষদলের বাহবা সর্বজনবিদিত, যে শহরে দেশি-বিদেশি সকল কৃতীজন সমাদৃত - এমন কলকাতা শহরে জনকতক মনুর সন্তানকে "বুদ্ধিজীবি"-র মুকুট পরানো হইল, অথচ তাহার কোনে প্রতিবাদ হইল না, ইহাই আশ্চর্য সৃষ্টি করে । বুদ্ধিজীবিরাও এই অলীক শ্রেণীভেদের ক্ষীণতম প্রতিবাদ পর্যন্ত করেন নাই; artists and academicians are not the same as intellectuals - যাহারা ইহা বোঝেন না অথবা না বুঝিবার ভণিতা করেন, তাহাদের কি বুদ্ধিজীবি বলা স্ববুদ্ধির পরিচয় ?

An Eve without Web

Nearly a third of a day ago I was told by someone to lead the life of an ascetic. That was the medication prescribed for certain symptoms rising out of my habit of baring my mind. The greatest mystery about truth is that it is often more misunderstood as lie than falsehood itself. As truth got unfolded, my lines were read between and earlier statements were (re)interpreted to a completely false conclusion. I suppose we are so used to deception, that a candid expression is almost universally noticed, either to an applause or to suspicion. I take facts by facts but my expectations about others doing the same is definitely a thing of the Mars, if not Utopia.

I don't smoke, nor drink or have a fatal attraction towards television that I can get rid off. Must an ascetic abandon his uninterrupted nurturing of some unworthy passion, I decided to put my habit of being on the internet to a test. I decided to stay disconnected till tomorrow morning. Not doing this for the first time, but not as the first step of becoming an ascetic.

9:25pm. A force can only be replaced by another force of same or more strength. Passion must replace passion, love must replace love, hatred can be replaced by hatred towards hate, if I cannot get online I must be doing something equally occupying. I had started to watch "The Berlin Express". It just ended. Twice I had the urge to take a peek at my mailbox, but I able to curb it. Next reporting, an hour later.

10:32pm now, and I smell something burning. The scene in front is showing a person from an Italian asylum taking a leak with his fly still buttoned, but it didn't take a minute to dawn upon me that the smell bothering me isn't, possibly can't be, coming from the movie 'Amarcord' but from my kitchen where a rather watery ensemble of veggies is supposed to be slowly enraged to perfection. Shoot!!! I quickly go and fill the pot with water to its brink. Dessert to ocean in a the wink of en eye. And I have managed to spent one more hour avoiding the urge.

11:02pm. Finished making 5 round flat whole-wheat breads. Miracle of technology has gifted the ability of enjoying homemade "roti"/"chapati" to people challenged with rolling pins and dough. Now I can make chapatis at the rate of asymptotically one in every 5 minutes, start to finish and no messy guts lying around. I also reaffirmed my theory of losing weight, cooking food for self. It has nothing to do with the taste, in fact it better be friendly to one's palate to facilitate a long term entate; the energy spent during cooking is enough to burn the excess carb one might be taking in. Well of course, the person concerned has to possess the inability to sit quietly at a place for even a minute: I have been walking around constantly during the last half an hour. Still no sign of the return of any urge. Good so far.

Two minutes have passed since the hands of my watch agreed on their positions. Midnight has just happened. I had to stop "Breakfast at Tiffany's" because I didn't want to spend the whole evening only watching movies. I had to anyway switch to this Hollywood flick because it is cumbersome to eat and watch the subtitles of the previous one. I better start making my bed. I just made a quick pass at the breeze from the balcony ... it is lovely. I remembered I had to send an email to two students about some web stuff ... but I cannot take the risk of opening the door of a card house; the whole effort will wash away in an instant. There is a photo staring at me from my desktop. I will let it stare and shutting my mind, drop the curtains atop my laptop. Good night, bis morgan.

Two birds woke me up. It is 6:50am now. They were fighting, or jostling but in a rather hostile manner, out of my sight; but foolish as they are, they didn't bother to consider my ears and were just outside my window. Rascals, had to scare them off ... the next they always do is lit my floors with litter. I remember falling off to sleep last night while I was working on a, what I think is incorrect, proof in Flavio's paper; I want to email him and seek an explanation. Email?! Coming back to me pretending to be abstinent, I think I will postpone the ritual of breaking it once I reach office. Soon after I woke up, I started 'St Matthew's Passion' (this one is sung in English and indeed sounds unfit) and the wonderful sacred music is currently occupying my heart and soul. I have been told I am living in darkness, maybe this music will lighten it up. I better prepare to leave for work. Next, from froffice.

8:57am. In front of my work PC and posting this blog. Long wait is over. And I did not miss anything. The good part is for the last half of the waiting time, I wasn't even eager for this moment to arrive. Maybe I will this thing again ... but I surely will not bore you again.

April 28, 2010

Two good news! One just in, other today morning.

Brother got a surprise promotion - henceworth he will be called Senior Consultant. I think I should get used to seeing him in suit and tie doing even more late hours.

Bhavana was awared the BU CS Department Best Research Award (Grad Student). Frankly, I saw it coming once she informed me of the acceptance of her paper in STOC. But nevertheless ... WOW! (And she is also getting married during this summer, but this another story). On right, my prized possession.



Congrats to both of you. Proud to know you.

Rebecca

From which the Hindi B&W gem Kohra was adapted.

Why do I have to watch such wonderful movies alone ?