The start of a great idea happens on a blank page like this. You got to be blank to get that idea. How blank is anyone, by the way? Everyone has something going on in their life. A nagging trouble I mean. If not world politics, some local stories of unimportance. We can't get to a state of clean slate anytime. Then what's the point of this objective thinking. We can't get ourselves out of this muck of sensory inputs which pin us down to only a particular reference frame, may be a two or three for the intellects out there, but largely leaving us in quandary about the universe. About nature. About facts. Forget about Truth alright. There is disagreement on whether it exists as a singular or in multitude. There isn't any lab which would fix that. Not yet, I suppose.
Quandary as a child is an innocently cute act. You would get hugs and kisses from all the loved ones for the doubtful eyes you cast on any judgment. There is even an admiration about the various points of view you hold as a child, however stupid they seem to you now. I have seen parents getting together and admiring each others' children. It's a ritual of acceptance of their style of upbringing. As much as an architect seeking approval for the blue print he provides for a community hall. The blue print here is to understand this complex world which seemed too opaque to the earlier generations. To give them the benefit of doubt, I would assume that they had studied and determined the opacity of things. Their progenies would do the same. In different professions and of course expressing their helplessness in different gestures and mannerisms.
Objective thinking might require us to be insensitive, to keep cool, to be not affected by any emotions. I won't say a clean slate like mind. Just a different slate may be. Much like a dual switch between objectivity that doesn't hurt and a compromise that is life. I think irrationality plays as much role in life as rationality does. Between any two rational acts there may be countless irrational thoughts. Much like between two rational numbers there are many irrational ones. I am not sure if there is any single mind which hasn't even thought anything irrational before crossing it out as an impossibility. Our irrationality might be keeping us human in a sense. Could we tag beauty, love, hate, anger, contentment, pride, guilt and other feelings as rational? Is there a rational anger? There might be logical anger. Yet there might not be a logical love. May be a rational love? How insipid that would be? May be these feelings, call them irrationalities if you will, are as much needed as the bridges of rationality that we construct between truths or facts.
Cartesian thinking (originated from Rene Descartes) summed up in the phrase "I think therefore I am" is a very strong case for rationality. It led to successive thinkers to view the world in a Newtonian frame. That the universe is governed by definite laws. Without ambiguities. Then came quantum theory essentially multiple ( dual as of now) states of an object. I can't help notice the overlap ( of times but may be ideas too) in the rise and acceptance of Non-determinism and Existentialism in the Twentieth century. There might not be any connection but the irony of this overlap is interesting. In search for what's human and essentially for a purpose to our existence we have hit upon a quagmire of multitude. Confused multi-level parking lots. Each of us has a favorite spot there.
We stand on a slippery ground of rationality. And to hold ourselves together we need multiple supports. May be multiple constructs of truths. We might be accepting a few now, but what defines us as human would be an openness to accept others' truths. And this is a very difficult thing to do for collective societies.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Sunday, May 30, 2010
The Old System ( Saul Bellow)
(an extract)
And Dr.Braun, bitterly moved, tried to grasp what emotions were. What good were they! What were they for! And no one wanted them now. Perhaps the cold eye was better. On life, on death. But, again, the cold of the eye would be proportional to the degree of heat within. But once humankind had grasped its own idea, that it was human and human through such passions, it began to exploit, to play, to disturb for the sake of exciting disturbance, to make an uproar, a crude circus of feelings. So the Brauns wept for Tina's death. Isaac held his mother's ring in his hand. Dr.Braun, too, had tears in his eyes. Oh, these Jews—these Jews! Their feelings, their hearts! Dr.Braun wanted nothing more than to stop all this. For what came of it? One after another you gave over your dying. One by one they went. You went. Childhood, family, friendship, love were stifled in the grave. And these tears! When you wept them from the heart, you felt you justified something, understood something. But what did you understand? Again, nothing! It was only an intimation of understanding. A promise that mankind might—might, mind you—eventually, through its gift which might-might again!—be a divine gift, comprehend why it lived. Why life, why death.
And again, why these particular forms—these Isaacs and these Tinas? When Dr.Braun closed his eyes, he saw, red on black, something like molecular processes—the only true heraldry of being. As later, in the close black darkness as the short day ended, he went to the dark kitchen window to have a look at the stars. These things cast outward by a great begetting spasm billions of years ago.
And Dr.Braun, bitterly moved, tried to grasp what emotions were. What good were they! What were they for! And no one wanted them now. Perhaps the cold eye was better. On life, on death. But, again, the cold of the eye would be proportional to the degree of heat within. But once humankind had grasped its own idea, that it was human and human through such passions, it began to exploit, to play, to disturb for the sake of exciting disturbance, to make an uproar, a crude circus of feelings. So the Brauns wept for Tina's death. Isaac held his mother's ring in his hand. Dr.Braun, too, had tears in his eyes. Oh, these Jews—these Jews! Their feelings, their hearts! Dr.Braun wanted nothing more than to stop all this. For what came of it? One after another you gave over your dying. One by one they went. You went. Childhood, family, friendship, love were stifled in the grave. And these tears! When you wept them from the heart, you felt you justified something, understood something. But what did you understand? Again, nothing! It was only an intimation of understanding. A promise that mankind might—might, mind you—eventually, through its gift which might-might again!—be a divine gift, comprehend why it lived. Why life, why death.
And again, why these particular forms—these Isaacs and these Tinas? When Dr.Braun closed his eyes, he saw, red on black, something like molecular processes—the only true heraldry of being. As later, in the close black darkness as the short day ended, he went to the dark kitchen window to have a look at the stars. These things cast outward by a great begetting spasm billions of years ago.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
The Grammarian (by Christian Ward)
The logo on his bag says
Nantucket Historical Society, 2002
but his face shows no passing
of time; as if he just left a mould
and sits carrying out left-behind
instructions; circling the commas
scheduled for execution, sparing
a dash here, a parentheses there,
cleaning up the page like the way
he has organised his life. His glasses,
suit and umbrella follow subject, object,
verb. There are no adjectives
caught in his reflection. The world
is not a mosaic of memories, colour
and experiences but subjects, objects
and verbs, watching life only to correct it.
(Christian Ward is a London-based poet whose poetry can be seen in journals such as Fire, Other Poetry, Softblow and Mastodon Dentist. When not working towards a degree in English Literature and Creative Writing, he enjoys writing, films and reading)
Taken from the chapbook of Ward's poems brought out by Lily Press
Nantucket Historical Society, 2002
but his face shows no passing
of time; as if he just left a mould
and sits carrying out left-behind
instructions; circling the commas
scheduled for execution, sparing
a dash here, a parentheses there,
cleaning up the page like the way
he has organised his life. His glasses,
suit and umbrella follow subject, object,
verb. There are no adjectives
caught in his reflection. The world
is not a mosaic of memories, colour
and experiences but subjects, objects
and verbs, watching life only to correct it.
(Christian Ward is a London-based poet whose poetry can be seen in journals such as Fire, Other Poetry, Softblow and Mastodon Dentist. When not working towards a degree in English Literature and Creative Writing, he enjoys writing, films and reading)
Taken from the chapbook of Ward's poems brought out by Lily Press
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Internally Displaced People
http://www.outlookindia.com/article.aspx?264738-0
The article is about Dantewada and the fight between Government of India and tribals for the control of the forest. Dandakranya , the heart of India with huge mineral wealth is a battleground between a Govt. and the people it governs. Arundhati Roy's interesting journey across this mineral belt.
There have been similar situations in the US, Australia and other colonial settlements where the indigenous people were wiped off the face of earth. They were less aware of their rights or they didn't have enough know-how of countering the gun powder. What's happening in Dandakaranya is a fight for the rights. The debate should throw open important questions as to the rights of adivasis and in general land reforms. We are heading towards the Zamindari system where a Sharad Pawar, YSR, CBN, Devegowda, own quite a piece of the Indian land mass.
An interesting article.
The article is about Dantewada and the fight between Government of India and tribals for the control of the forest. Dandakranya , the heart of India with huge mineral wealth is a battleground between a Govt. and the people it governs. Arundhati Roy's interesting journey across this mineral belt.
There have been similar situations in the US, Australia and other colonial settlements where the indigenous people were wiped off the face of earth. They were less aware of their rights or they didn't have enough know-how of countering the gun powder. What's happening in Dandakaranya is a fight for the rights. The debate should throw open important questions as to the rights of adivasis and in general land reforms. We are heading towards the Zamindari system where a Sharad Pawar, YSR, CBN, Devegowda, own quite a piece of the Indian land mass.
An interesting article.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Poetry ( by Pablo Neruda)
And it was at that age ... Poetry arrived
in search of me. I don't know, I don't know where
it came from, from winter or a river.
I don't know how or when,
no they were not voices, they were not
words, nor silence,
but from a street I was summoned,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires
or returning alone,
there I was without a face
and it touched me.
I did not know what to say, my mouth
had no way
with names,
my eyes were blind,
and something started in my soul,
fever or forgotten wings,
and I made my own way,
deciphering
that fire,
and I wrote the first faint line,
faint, without substance, pure
nonsense,
pure wisdom
of someone who knows nothing,
and suddenly I saw
the heavens
unfastened
and open,
planets,
palpitating plantations,
shadow perforated,
riddled
with arrows, fire and flowers,
the winding night, the universe.
And I, infinitesimal being,
drunk with the great starry
void,
likeness, image of
mystery,
felt myself a pure part
of the abyss,
I wheeled with the stars,
my heart broke loose on the wind.
in search of me. I don't know, I don't know where
it came from, from winter or a river.
I don't know how or when,
no they were not voices, they were not
words, nor silence,
but from a street I was summoned,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires
or returning alone,
there I was without a face
and it touched me.
I did not know what to say, my mouth
had no way
with names,
my eyes were blind,
and something started in my soul,
fever or forgotten wings,
and I made my own way,
deciphering
that fire,
and I wrote the first faint line,
faint, without substance, pure
nonsense,
pure wisdom
of someone who knows nothing,
and suddenly I saw
the heavens
unfastened
and open,
planets,
palpitating plantations,
shadow perforated,
riddled
with arrows, fire and flowers,
the winding night, the universe.
And I, infinitesimal being,
drunk with the great starry
void,
likeness, image of
mystery,
felt myself a pure part
of the abyss,
I wheeled with the stars,
my heart broke loose on the wind.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Destruction like never before
Humanity, like humans, changes its color under various lights. Set against an apocalyptic background what does it mean? Who would be the benefactor and who would be the victim of your humanity? I am not sure if we could be represented by just a single voice and single theory saying " Open the gates, save everyone".Like it happened in the movie 2012 I saw a while ago.
I've never seen anyone, either in movies or real life, have so many near misses as the main protagonist and his family in 2012. The introduction scene of the chemistry between the heroine and her second husband in a supermarket is worth a laugh. They are shopping for macaroni in a super market and this guy suddenly says "Let's make our own baby". And right when they start discussing what keeps them apart there is a fissure running right between them. Obviously, the universe got angry. CNN reports zero casualties later. That's another story anyway.
Let's focus. I see this is a much harder statement to make in the times of apocalypse, but I am mistaken. The hero and the family are so focused that they escape all the moving fronts of lava, oil tanks exploding, buildings falling over and guess what, they even knock off the head of the empire state building and feel good about it. Finally they have been offered a chance to be naughty with this whole apocalypse thing. As an Aerospace Engineer, I haven't seen a better propeller airplane in air-travel history. The flight is less turbulent than it would be in normal, non-apocalyptic times when the same obstacles are placed. The second husband, a doctor who has a few hours of flying experience with his wax wings completes this operation successfully. I was already amazed and felt safe for the protagonists. I realized they are never going to die.
The US president, a black man ( for Barack Obama) likes to stay back in the White House instead of boarding Air Force one and then onto a ship protecting everyone. A Nobel gesture. Except him, all the heads of the states of US-EU combine are there in the main ship. The other nine ships are filled with Indian and Chinese. All the European leaders rally behind the German Chancellor and she speaks for Europe in her grand English. Queen Elizabeth is seen hurrying towards the ship with two of her poodles.
Lot of rich and powerful get into the ship which is supposed to save the best in species and try to re-populate the Earth if required. There are animals too on this Noah's Ark but not enough room for other humans who clamor to open the gates. The protagonist and his extended family get into the ship. They had to. However, a tragedy strikes them when the door tries to close.The second husband tries some heroism ( which he shouldn't beyond the initial scenes) and gets stuck between the gears and dies. I knew, the stage is getting ready for the grand finish.
The finish is equally jaw dropping and let me put it straight, the gates open and the sky is clear. A new world map is drawn. Himalayas sink to zero and there is a mountain range near Cape of Good Hope and the captain of the ship informs "That is why, it is called Cape of Good Hope, sir". Supposedly, a deep statement. Anyway, the movie closes with the protagonists kissing and me walking away contemplating how fate can leave a bruise with a kiss in the form of 2012.
I've never seen anyone, either in movies or real life, have so many near misses as the main protagonist and his family in 2012. The introduction scene of the chemistry between the heroine and her second husband in a supermarket is worth a laugh. They are shopping for macaroni in a super market and this guy suddenly says "Let's make our own baby". And right when they start discussing what keeps them apart there is a fissure running right between them. Obviously, the universe got angry. CNN reports zero casualties later. That's another story anyway.
Let's focus. I see this is a much harder statement to make in the times of apocalypse, but I am mistaken. The hero and the family are so focused that they escape all the moving fronts of lava, oil tanks exploding, buildings falling over and guess what, they even knock off the head of the empire state building and feel good about it. Finally they have been offered a chance to be naughty with this whole apocalypse thing. As an Aerospace Engineer, I haven't seen a better propeller airplane in air-travel history. The flight is less turbulent than it would be in normal, non-apocalyptic times when the same obstacles are placed. The second husband, a doctor who has a few hours of flying experience with his wax wings completes this operation successfully. I was already amazed and felt safe for the protagonists. I realized they are never going to die.
The US president, a black man ( for Barack Obama) likes to stay back in the White House instead of boarding Air Force one and then onto a ship protecting everyone. A Nobel gesture. Except him, all the heads of the states of US-EU combine are there in the main ship. The other nine ships are filled with Indian and Chinese. All the European leaders rally behind the German Chancellor and she speaks for Europe in her grand English. Queen Elizabeth is seen hurrying towards the ship with two of her poodles.
Lot of rich and powerful get into the ship which is supposed to save the best in species and try to re-populate the Earth if required. There are animals too on this Noah's Ark but not enough room for other humans who clamor to open the gates. The protagonist and his extended family get into the ship. They had to. However, a tragedy strikes them when the door tries to close.The second husband tries some heroism ( which he shouldn't beyond the initial scenes) and gets stuck between the gears and dies. I knew, the stage is getting ready for the grand finish.
The finish is equally jaw dropping and let me put it straight, the gates open and the sky is clear. A new world map is drawn. Himalayas sink to zero and there is a mountain range near Cape of Good Hope and the captain of the ship informs "That is why, it is called Cape of Good Hope, sir". Supposedly, a deep statement. Anyway, the movie closes with the protagonists kissing and me walking away contemplating how fate can leave a bruise with a kiss in the form of 2012.
Tsunami in Telugu film songs
The Tsunami that hit Asian Coastlines in 2004 left a tragic mark on many lives. How a great tragedy affects us is truly a difficult thing to assess.The physical loss of property is minuscule compared to the effect on the minds and hearts of people. Nevertheless, Time, the great healer helps us in moving on. The memories of the loss remind us of how deep a tragedy it was. These are scars that time leaves on our body. Each scar is a story in itself.
One of the many after-effects of this tragedy is the absorption of the word "Tsunami" into various languages. It is being used to refer to something big and of the scale of a Juggernaut. This seems to be unstoppable. Telugu film industry, which is located much interior from the coastline has been an indirect victim of the great tragedy. The dialogue writers wait opportunely to increase their vocabulary and leave ugly stretch marks on the scenes. The song writers are not behind. They have their own thing going on using the T-word liberally in the item songs and other inanities.
Who writes these things?Do they break their nibs after finishing such a song? They certainly have broken the neck of the standards.
(Please excuse me for not quoting any evidence, but trust me I have heard this in lot of songs written down during the last five years. Do look out for such patterns in the movies/songs you watch/listen)
One of the many after-effects of this tragedy is the absorption of the word "Tsunami" into various languages. It is being used to refer to something big and of the scale of a Juggernaut. This seems to be unstoppable. Telugu film industry, which is located much interior from the coastline has been an indirect victim of the great tragedy. The dialogue writers wait opportunely to increase their vocabulary and leave ugly stretch marks on the scenes. The song writers are not behind. They have their own thing going on using the T-word liberally in the item songs and other inanities.
Who writes these things?Do they break their nibs after finishing such a song? They certainly have broken the neck of the standards.
(Please excuse me for not quoting any evidence, but trust me I have heard this in lot of songs written down during the last five years. Do look out for such patterns in the movies/songs you watch/listen)
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