Monday, May 28, 2012

Book Reviews and Notes


We all read these wonderful sheets of literature, sometimes bound together as a book on various things and forget about them until we stumble upon them when shifting to a new apartment or cleaning the book shelf , at that time you think of donating them away for you neither have the time nor the inclination to go over it again. Kindle and iPad are definitely handy and save space but they are worse than a dusty book rack in reminding what you had read. Lets just say, when it comes to reading for pleasure they are a bit characterless - these are the necessary idiosyncrasies that make a man. Only a distilled lucid thought prevails in the mind at that point about the book. So I thought I will take some initiative to create a record of what was read: upon finishing every chapter I will write something about it and that way it keeps me going, a public record for someone interested or just another page of digital junk.

I like biographies, so here we go....

The Man Who Knew Infinity: A Life of The Genius Ramanujan by Robert Kanigel


Before ordering this book I read quite a bit about Ramanujan that's available on the internet. The more I read the more I wanted to read. I understood it was a legendary but a sad story of a great man.  I feel that to truly understand why someone is considered great is a daunting task and most of the time one is compelled to go with the flow for there is lack of time, resources or intellect. I just finished reading the Prologue where Kanigel says that a dedicated mathematician with a Ph. D. would not suffice to plumb the depths of Ramanujan's works. Wolfram's mathematica came very handy in looking up some of Ramanujan's work and there is wikipedia for everything else - just to get a sense for the severity of his genius, if I can put it that way.

I ordered the book on Amazon.com and there is a reason why this company is No. 1 in what they do - I ordered it on May 23rd thinking I was late for it will not make it to the long weekend (May 26th) but when I opened my mail-box in the morning it was sitting there as a pleasant surprise - Amazon.com is a supply-chain wonder.


Robert Kanigel is an American science writer (and an engineer by trade!). Ramanujan was an Indian in British India and G. H. Hardy, the one who recognized the genius of Ramanujan and became his good friend and on whom several chapters are dedicated in this book, was English, so this work of Kanigal is a conglomeration of three influential worlds. Since Kanigel is neither an Indian nor an English I am hoping this book will give a unique and non-partisan view of these two fascinating characters/worlds from their/its cerebral stand-point.    

The book has the flavor of a typical biography - nonparticipant third-person narration and there is doodling of equations and poems from time to time which is indeed my favorite literary combination!

I was slightly disappointed when I read Kanigel spent only 5 weeks in South India - one needs 4 weeks to acclimatize to India with a superior immune system together with jet-lag (unless he is a seasoned traveler). I  do not know how intelligent an observer Kanigal is - he definitely must have read quite a bit about India before visiting but India is a different beast, the one with two hundred eyes, hands and legs, it cannot be so easily conquered/captured. India is a real culture. Looks like he traveled India in the late 80s so things may have been better then. Ramanujan died in 1920 so Kanigel visited India 60 years after his death and it was approximately 30 years of independent India. It must have been an intimidating task for Kanigel to associate the happenings of a life-time outside of its space and time. There is biography and there is the biographer!


Some eulogistic words:
"It is a story of one man and his stubborn faith in his own abilities. But it is not a story that concludes, Genius will out- though Ramanujan's, in the main, did. Because so nearly did events turn out otherwise that we need no imagination to see how the least bit less persistence, or the least bit less luck, might have consigned him to obscurity."


---- May 27th 2012

Chapter - 1

Finished first chapter - very simple and clear writing. Kanigel indeed demonstrates his superior understanding of the South Indian culture. He draws parallels between South Indian and European ways of life whenever possible.

----May 28th 2012









Friday, September 12, 2008

She cheers me up, all the time...!


She cheered me up! What a beauty...
So many times for her...mysterious.

Every morning, when I leave the house, the rays of sun escapes through the fluttering leaves only to fall on my smiley cheek. Blithe.

That lovely lady in all-black, slips from my hand and runs with a coyish smile, whispering in my ears, "last night, you were in my dreams too". MP3 player.

Then comes the raw womanhood in gold-dust skin, in whose bosom I have found haven, she has taken my sleep away, yet, I day dream of her taste for I add a little more sweet into her. Cafe Mocha.

And when I take the turn at the end of the street, where the sun actually gets the brightest, I see myself everywhere, the city-of-mirrors emerges with my every step. Glossy buildings.

I always open that right door behind which I get the unconditional-love, warmth, privacy and a quintessential satisfaction attained in silence, turn after turn. Temple of pages - Library.

Once inside, I go over her parts so thoroughly that she smiles at me and stretches her hand and caresses my hair with her soft fingers for which I say, "Got it". Lab assignments.

When I look at the moon through that window in the Temple of Pages, he cools both of our bodies and energies for few more miles. I shut my Laptop and walk back.

I told you...!
Isn't she lovely.
Yes, she is my Lovely Life.

Monday, October 1, 2007

Oh, that calling of the Indian shore!


Oh, that calling of the Indian shore!
What a varied poem I long for some more

That savory juice of spice
Mixed with the invaluable rice
The smell still lingers
For which,
Whispers even my tasteless fingers

What a calling... I long for some more...

The ears concentrate on the sounds
For those vehicles on uneven grounds
And nothing is like that noisy traffic
Smoke & sound, carts & cars, graphic

What a calling... I long for some more...

That sight of the huge cattle herd
Perfumed by the Godly mud
I wonder, what a world,
Raven is the most useful bird

Kaa... Kaa... What a calling... I long for some more...

It's not about the shore
I need more and more
Of that smell of sambar pour
Its not just a calling, its a roar

What a calling... I long for some more...



What a calling... I long for some more...

Saturday, September 22, 2007

Cockroach and The Contemplative: It will really be your waste of time!


Having lived in India for so long one would have developed an unconscious affinity towards insects. So it's quite unusual and intriguing to see them when one is located at a place where they are seldom found. My point is definitely not about the sophistication or cleanliness of any country. This is just an introduction to, how the point of view changes when one gets relocated to a new and different eco-system.
I enter the bath-room of my apartment, a little late, after the dinner and I see this cockroach lying upside down, like dead, inside the bath-tub. There is a smile of indifference on my face at the sight of that. For that made me remember India! (I think of India all the time but a cockroach making me remember it is something special. Well, not that I lived amidst cockroaches back there, there does exists a subtle relation!) I don't intrude into the scene, I think it's dead; since there is a high likelihood of not finding any cockroach at all, finding one, that too motionless makes you think that it is dead. I finish my work and get out of the bathroom.
Then, I go to bed having done for the day. I too lie motionless and try to catch a sleep. I try harder. And harder...you know sleep is one thing you cannot play with... One needs to be really lucky at times. I try to memorize the formulae of Linear System Design, no luck even then. It was a strenuous day, I convince myself that I need to sleep. But where to concentrate when you want to sleep? I am only ending up thinking even harder. I again lie motionless and close my eyes. Sometimes you see more things with the eyes closed than open, you know what I mean. So I was compelled to open my eyes, tossing myself on the bed. Then I think that it is high time that I get-up and do something. I get out taking the text book of Linear Systems with me, I know Fourier was really happy that night. It was two thirty in the morning.
When you want a break, piss will surely come, you take my word for that, it's a habit from nursery. I go to the bathroom and find this old bugger still lying there... I empty my entertainment-center and after I wash my hands, just for the heck of it... I think let me give it a try... I start playing...with the cockroach. I sprinkle water from my washed hands unto him... Aghast!! He is not dead! He responded... I sat by the side of the bath-tub. He was waiting for me... He knew I was there... I knew that. I did it again... He again responded... I knew what he was going through... "The state of a topsy-turvied cockroach". He knew I would help him today... He knew I would drain him into the hole... He was again waiting... I could see one of his legs calling me mutely... I waited.. He didn't give-up... He moved his another leg... May be it was his hand this time. Strange. I had made friendship with a cockroach! Hurray! I know many humans... But I never knew anybody in such great despair and calling me for help, nor I was ever in a position to realize and help. I felt I had graduated to a whole new level of existence.
We were not similar but there was something, but I cannot call it similar. I am human(gous) and it is a 'mere' cock-roach... I don't know what you call it but I see it everywhere today. These are such moments when your poems get mixed-up! May be I should stop thinking about Buddha.
I would drain him. I cupped my hands and filled it with water...(Imagine figuratively.) I poured water by his side... He was happy. He floated in water and joy... He found his support. He came on his legs and he swam, he swam into the hole.. He was gone. I felt good. I came and crashed on my bed. For I was sure that sleep too would drown me into her this time... zzzz...

Saturday, May 26, 2007

Purple passage, a poetic prose.


I always get caught, like a fledgling, to the snare of thy own thoughts and vacillate between nothingness and abundance, defeating thyself from being victorious yet being unable to reign over like a Maharaja over thyself. The appalling degree of logic inside thy humble bubble of consciousness aspires for something more than a mere victory. Logic, logic it was and it is no music. The cause for the evolution and devolution of thy thoughts. Every rise is followed by an equal ebb keeping thoughts far from materialisation making thee feel hapless. Expression defied I feel, though I've struggled to bring out one. A sweet burden it seems to me at times. And I end up falling in love with it. More the words more is the love. Paradoxically, the sentences become smaller as I go on indicating thee the struggle has become more rigorous and complex. And so I elaborate it oscillating between a poem and a prose, a poetic prose rather, alternating between the heart and the mind and carry the contradiction with an accustomed wonder. Cool breeze soaked in a drizzle escapes into my window and unsettles thy hair prompting thee to walk out to thy terrace and partake in the soundless opera of nature. Dark clouds had set the background for the dance of colourless darts of water to a tune set by the winds of high mountains making thee carry the contradiction but with a new wonder. It is always nature, an eternal wonder, that pacifies the logics-of-compunction of thy silly mind and tells thee it is not victory, as there is no such thing, but, it is the enlightenment with a selfless love, is all there is...and that probes my vacillation to strike a balance with the opera. The snare has disappeared and my thoughts have become lines in the opera as I listen to them with wonder!

Monday, May 21, 2007

The ground zero of perception!


It was the ground zero of perception
I still wonder at my realisation of that
The thoughts were coiled in themselves with no loose ends
Concotion of appetizing waves of sounds turning into a meaning
But yet it failed to be a poem or a song
I was amazed for it was all an abstraction
At the ground zero of perception
Confused...
Then came the duality, an irrevokable opinion, with its sovereign might
Showing its infinite manifestions consuming all that was thinkable
Mind wanted to implode at this convolution oxidising my breath
I held it tight but was no way near the might of that duality
Scared...
River of thoughts flew across the mind from an unknown source
Telling me to open and clear the eyes, it was the rightest moment to do so I believe
Eyes spurred open at the first initiation
For once I saw 'I' was two, the perception and the percieved
Realised...
The duality had split
I saw and I perceived
(That) The duality was fine
And returned to the ground zero of peception
Walking away, thinking, I was there, and I saw it
Remebered...
This is my daily dose of exercise to my mind
To make itself feel what a wonder it is
I walkin and walkout of the ground zero of perception
Wondered...