Early human migration out of Africa...

Mind over matter - Experiments on Quantum Mechanics

Ethereal

Think of the rivers of blood spilled by generals and emperors to become the momentary masters of a fraction of a dot. –Carl Sagan -- Brian Greene...

Of Big Egos and Rolling Eyes

Renuka Chowdary is a big woman – well-built and of a height perceived to be well above an average man’s. With that stature coupled with rabid aggression – both in speech as well as in her manner, she was quite intimidating to most men on one lazy afternoon in late 90’s winter. Therefore, the policemen cajoling her to relent, near Telugu Talli statue near Tank Bund stood as wimpy bystanders to her revelling Dharna antics. Big women can be, as a matter of fact, really intimidating.

Talking of big women, rolling eyes, and painful egos, there is yet another gargantuan of an Ego, and this time from my earliest encounters with a woman whom I would prefer to call NeeAr. She comes across as just another fat Punjabi past her youthful years. Her closest resemblance I can think of is a woman from GPRA quarters, sporting similar nose-stud and tan.

People can only leave behind memories. You can only remember how people have made you feel, not what they may have said to you. That feeling often stays back long after the individual has left. That “how she made me feel” feeling continues to arouse anger and love depending on how they were related to and treated you. NeeAr left behind an unpleasantness that will persist with me for a very long time.

I must be fortunate that for several weeks or even months, I cannot recall how long, that Neear had been with us, she may have been only lurking on the peripheries of my group, furtively casting her evil eyes all over me, even as I escaped her attention. Never having to face each other spared both of us the singe of mutual egos. 9/11 not only did change a lot in the world about perception of terror, it did a lot too in my introspection to my own proclivities as well as survival in my present role in the organization. For reasons I now better understand, my reasoning to 9/11 may have been hostile to popular sentiment of those siding with the capitalist country.

With great certainty I can say kendriya vidyalaya education produces mostly left liberals. It may have to do with the teachers, perhaps, as much as it could be accredited to books on History and Economy. As far back in time as I can remember, I have been a supporter of USSR, now Russia, throughout my school life – I now comprehend, I was basically adhering to Marxist idealism. What it meant to the regular humdrum of life I could figure out only now. US could at best evoke in me a feeling of mistrust because of its avoidable adventurism, and persistent hoggish tendency, like all other western imperialist nations. The Nehruvian socialistic ideals were so inculcated that the Russian aggression of Afghan soil did little to sway me away from my support to the erstwhile communist state. By the time USSR was dismantled, I had moved out to a science stream, sparing me further indoctrination. I moved on with life with all the “rightful” detestation towards a perceived hegemonic regimes quite intact, yet never realizing why I empathized with the Palestinians or with the Axes of Evil, while blaming the West for much of the problems of today. With an eye for care, and to be sure the reader does not misjudge me for a terrorist, I have since moved on from left of  Centre, with sparingly less sympathy towards those who murder (within the context of middle east conflicts), yet hawkish about certain international policies and dealings of some countries.

On the night of 9/11, after I came home from work, I stuck to the television set for hours together absorbing every tiny bit of information and theories, including those that appeared conspiratorial. On the TV sets, there was utter disbelief when the towers began to crumble, with the rising columns of dust I could sense an elation questioning the Rambo nation “Do you now know how it feels to be ripped apart in our own country?” Television channels played on aircrafts hitting the towers in waves – on and on and on. But somewhere deep within, I was predisposed to believe US was paying for its sins of adventurism in Afghanistan, Iraq, and elsewhere.

Next day the wallpaper on my office computer read “Now you understand” with the background of a plane hitting the towers. The note may have been this, or something else also, but the motive was certainly not to celebrate death, rather to awaken the West to deal with terrorism on their doorsteps. It was hardly 11am when we broke for tea that I felt someone rushing behind me. I turned around to look directly into Neear’s face. The next thing I heard was a verbal assault so vicious I can still hear it ring in my years even after 15 years! The acerbic rants continued for the next I don’t know how many minutes suggesting me I must be from a terrible origin that had little respect for those killed in the attack. That rage-personified disappeared as quickly as she came, without ever bothering to hear my view.

Quite shaken, I slumped on a nearby chair to gather my senses. I would soon come to hear and experience the aftershocks.

Months before, when I saw the company’s advert in a local newspaper, it appeared much too mundane like most of other such occupations. The post required qualifying an exam, which was simple enough, and where the proctors were visibly of my age. Soon after selection, we were summoned to the boardroom for a formal briefing by the head. On the floor above where we were usually seated, and on which the boardroom was there it was an ocean of damsels in distress, so it appeared. For all the Sees, Aeas, Avas and many more sat awaiting to be ogled and visually devoured.  Those were also the days when I was ethically petrified from even a stealing glance at anything enchanting. The head was one of these, Aeas, among a barrage of workforce dominated by the other gender. This gender prevailed over us in numbers even in our department. Numbers did frighten me further in an era where rights of the thus-far-emasculated could be effortlessly misused.

The day after my squabble with the mammoth, none of the females were ready to talk to me; not even for official reasons. Over the next couple of weeks, the momentum gathered as I began to feel increasingly isolated. Among those that vilified me, was Aar, whom I had presumed to be noble, and worthy of respect until that moment when I wanted to talk to her about something. I have never run affairs, so was distinctly unlikely to have anything with her beyond a few words over some everyday humdrum. She refused to speak to me or pay attention even for a moment. It troubled me a great deal to understand the cause. There was never a moment I can recall anytime during my stay here when I did something intentionally to invite the derision. Numerous attempts all ended in further ignominy watched by even more of the flock.

Eventually over the next couple of months, things came to a point where I could take it no longer. I had to move out of the organization if I had to move ahead in life. The minor irritants persisted though, but contributed to my resolve to move out. As I prepared to leave, my contribution to team/org, interaction, and will to move on with people, and carry along business as usual with them shrivelled with each passing day.

It was still several months to go before I would leave the organization. Meanwhile, the Divinity was perhaps working on the backstage to teach some valuable lessons to at least one of my detractors. It is with a heavy heart that I still address them as detractors, for they possessed many good qualities all of which obfuscated by blind hatred; nevertheless, they were never close enough to be worthy friends.

Among several other things, I presume, that contributed to my downfall in this company was my identity – what I was and where I came from. There may have been a notion in the air that what I was, was heavily influenced by where I came from. It is by no coincidence that people I have met with, irrespective of the organization they are from, or friends out of office, see a certain quirkiness in me. That notion springs from my inability to conform to agreed standards of social finesses. I grew up believing one should address their parents only in local language instead of the anglicized Mamma or Papa. I was also prejudiced towards cutting wedding-or-birthday-cakes culture. These are but a few instances of my unwillingness to fit into social straightjackets. If there was one sentence in all the literature I have read thus far, that appeared to set the course for the personality I would eventually assume, it is this – that a lion lives in the jungle alone, and hunts alone – much grandeur, as much of ego it carries. I remember it was a passage from a 8th or 9th standard Hindi essay. Believing I will have my own way, with never having to toe others’ lines, much of my preferences and opinions were based on independent thinking with influence if only by my own experiences.

It is in this context that my friend Aar, viewed me – the 9/11 only hastened, muddled, and compounded her adverse beliefs. For whatever it was, the divine retribution was a smack – hard and incisive. Her post martial home was to be there around the same hills and plains where I had spent much of my childhood – condemned to the same Godforsaken place that was supposed to have created the monster in me. It was a hard realization too, for her. Having colluded with the insane and for spitefully detesting my existence, that was the worst that could have happened to her.

After my departure, NeeAr went on to have a greater stranglehold on the empowered women, getting ever more paranoid at the sight of suspect men.

Bradley Stoke Fall

Airbus Filton Early Winter

The Dharma of Friendship

The concept of Dharma, originating from Sanskrit, lacks a direct equivalent in Western terminology. It encompasses notions of duty, virtue, ethics, and morality, often invoked in discussions surrounding our obligations towards others. Whether it be the responsibilities of a parent, the duties of a teacher to their students, or the principles guiding interpersonal relationships, Dharma is intricately woven into our social fabric.

In the modern era, the proliferation of social media platforms like Facebook has blurred the lines between genuine friendships and superficial connections. Amidst a vast network of online "friends," true companionship is scarce, often limited to a select few individuals whom we can genuinely rely upon – those we can count on a single hand.

However, even within this small circle, upholding the principles of Dharma can be challenging. Today's relationships, including friendships, are characterized by a heightened emphasis on individual freedom and autonomy. We prioritize personal choice and expression, sometimes to the extent of distancing ourselves from even well-meaning guidance, including that of our closest friends.

Navigating these dynamics requires delicate balance. While the essence of friendship remains relevant, its application is contingent upon the space granted for dialogue and mutual understanding. Yet, in instances where attempts at constructive criticism are met with resistance or disdain, one may find themselves marginalized, relegated to the sidelines of the relationship.

In such circumstances, the once-vibrant bond may dwindle to mere digital exchanges, devoid of genuine connection or emotional resonance. The convenience of platforms like WhatsApp or Facebook may sustain the semblance of friendship, but beneath the surface lies a hollow shell of what once was.

Diwakar

Diwakar possessed a striking handsomeness, but it was not the worn-out Turkish towel that accentuated his appearance. Instead, it served as a modest shield, concealing the peculiar abundance of hair that adorned his body. This unique choice of attire, worn exclusively within the confines of his home, hinted at a vulnerability seldom revealed beneath his affable demeanor and formidable eyebrows. Little did I know, the encounter with this enigmatic individual would soon unveil layers of complexity and intrigue.

December and January enveloped Hyderabad in a modest chill, a far cry from the biting cold of Koraput. Although heavy fog occasionally descended, veiling the cityscape in an ethereal haze, it rarely impeded daily routines. On one such misty morning in early January, I found myself gasping for breath, pushing my limits along the steep incline toward Gachibowli sports village. Despite the invigorating rhythm of my morning jog, the weight of unfulfilled aspirations and the relentless struggle to secure meaningful employment lingered like an oppressive shroud.

As I battled the incline, the specter of despondency clung to me, casting a pall over my endeavors. Each step forward felt like a futile attempt to outrun the persistent gloom that enveloped me. Eventually, defeated by the weight of my own thoughts, I begrudgingly retraced my path homeward, my spirit no lighter than before.

Amidst the tumult of my professional uncertainties, I sought solace in the structured pursuit of knowledge, enrolling in a part-time postgraduate program in computer sciences at Hyderabad Central University. Determined to maximize my time on days devoid of classes, I eagerly embarked on a quest for potential opportunities. Thus, after a hastily consumed breakfast, I set out to rendezvous with Uma, buoyed by the prospect of a promising lead.

Uma, a jovial figure, awaited me at the local typewriting institute, his demeanor exuding warmth and camaraderie. With characteristic efficiency, he wasted no time in broaching the subject that had drawn us together, igniting a dialogue that promised to unravel new avenues of possibility.

"Have you had the chance to meet Diwakar?" Uma inquired, his tone laced with anticipation.

"Diwakar?" I echoed, momentarily puzzled by the name.

"The one associated with Satyam, operating out of IIIT in Gachibowli," Uma clarified, his enthusiasm palpable.

"I've heard of him, but we haven't crossed paths," I admitted.

"He's ventured into entrepreneurship and might have an intriguing opportunity for you. Why not pay him a visit? I can provide you with his address," Uma suggested, extending a lifeline in my quest for employment.

Grasping the address from Uma's outstretched hand, I hastened towards Diwakar's residence, the prospect of potential employment propelling my steps. Along the way, I mentally rehearsed my qualifications, experiences, and aspirations, determined to make a favorable impression. The journey was brief, the distance negligible, yet each stride carried the weight of my hopes and aspirations.

Upon arriving at the apartment, I found Diwakar on the verge of departure, his demeanor mirroring the description Uma had provided. However, in that moment, appearances mattered little to me. All that occupied my thoughts was the desperate yearning for employment, regardless of its remuneration.

Violabilis

Violabilis is a French word signifying something that is “capable of being violated”. Inviolability, its antonym, captures the essence and sanctity wrapped around friendship. Friendship holds a sanctity that should ideally cannot be violated, if it does it wasn’t a true friendship after all.

Scrutiny of public figures

Scrutiny of public figures is not essentially intrusive, as these figures owe their fame & recognition to the general public, and therefore attempts to investigate and know their private lives are needed in a free economy, as they give key insights into the private lives of those individuals, eventually helping us to understand how that shapes the individual’s public life, and therefore his disposition towards us.