Equality

Equality is a nice word.

I like to use it.My boss likes to use it.Activists like to use it.
My boss told me that there is no heirarchy in science.Everyone is equal in the western parts of this planet.Humanitarian aid is given, because we cannot let our equals starve.

As Orwell said, some equalities are more equal than the others.My boss is more equal than me.In the west, you are a defender of freedom and equality if you caricature one prophet and a villain if you caricature the other.

Equality is a myth.

freedom of expression

Freedom is a much bandied term in the western world.I ascribe to it as much as they do.Freedom of action,ofcourse is a reserved right-to be used justly, without harm to others. For me, the freedom of expression is no different.You are allowed to say whatever you want, but we have to realise that this freedom comes with a responsibility. Controversial expressions are just and acceptable as long as they are a just critic, serve a useful cause or provoke a debate and hopefully, positive change.However, the freedom of expression is not to be abused.

Expression should not just be a medium where one side of the world assails another.

Abridged Guide to poetry as a medium for rhyme,rhythm,philosophy and bullshit

(Disclaimer: I declare myself incapable of comprehending poetry and other pieces of writing implimented by certain enlightened individuals such as Sylvia Plath,James Joyce etc.No comment has been made on their collections of words.)


I was once a poet.I ready my poetry today.Most of it has the rhyme, the rhythm (the entire shake your booty mimicry).It also has lots of philosophy that I once pretended to understand.I, must however mention that I did like a couple of poems that I had written.Certain random combinations of words do make sense once in a while.Fortunately, the amount of poetry I pretended to write was in almost vanishingly low volumes.

I had a freind(name not mentioned), who could speak Spanish,English,Telugu,French and Hindi-all with the same amount of mastery.He ofcourse did publish in 'el pais' etc etc.He did ofcourse write poetry in all the languages.We were oft treated to these masterful works , crafted with all the emotion befitting a lost ant.My two favourite combinations of words from his poetic efforts were those written for a freind of mine-with whom our linguist freind was in love .
The efforts were as follows:
1. "You are my Love,You are my dove....."
2. "I like making love to you,While you are new( we never did figure out if it was
new or newd!)

As you may well have figured out by now, the linguist freind did make quite an impact on the female freind of mine with all his love ballads.
AS you may well have noticed, there is a spectacular run of rhyme and rhythm-which is so smooth that it doesnt even bother to stimulate any stimuli whatsoever.It has the feeling of a fly bored by the buzzing of a flea.
THis, is one extreme form of commonly written poetry.It proves that an immortal monkey with a typewriter and infinite time and banana supply will indeed type out Hamlet.


His poetry also alluded to several philosophical and phisiological paradoxes and conundrums-into which i would not like to go into.

If any volunteer actually wants to actually feel good about his or her own poetry, then you may indeed read my freind's poetry.

Disclaimer: I am not responsible for any after-effects of reading his poetry.

Research Blues

A long time ago, i decided to become a researcher in whichever science i would be permitted to do. I will not pretend, my initial fascination for science had nothing to do with feynamanish curiosity. It was more of the curiosity-such as what is there inside my toy piano that sounds out the not so melodious tunes. This unstructured curiosity led to the dismantling of many of my toys.

It might be of interest to mention that only a completely random set of events landed me in biology.The random set of events directly supports paradigms described by the butterfly effect.
My interest for science was in no less way kindled by accounts of heroism and romantic bravado- of scientists who found a way against all odds.

I am no less(!!!), after reasonable struggle(15 years of painful exams), i joined mainstream research-not that i do anything of purpose.

I joined, with dreams of hypotheses and cerebration, of intellectual brain storming and artistic creativity, of everything that would keep me happy.Those dreams seem to have been left behind on the loft.


THe first half of my course was spent in a place that was magnificent with all its malaise.There were lots of hypotheses,cerebration etc on how to outwit your fellow student whose adulation was gonna win over my supervisor-and make my life miserable ofcourse.My supervisor was one of those who hadnt read a paper which had come out after his phd,so he was quite well in touch with the times.


The first few days of my seconds half has seen me cleaning tissue culture rooms,glassware and other arbid things(such as filling forms draawn up by some gorm) which has nothing to do with science.

I am here right now, listening to a Blues station, trying to read brave accounts of scientists before me-to keep my flag flying.Will I stand and be counted as one more brave hero? I dont know, i dont want to particularly know the answer to that right now-the answer might be quite frightening-considering the fact that i am not sure if i am capable of doing the tasks i am assigned to do.

This entry, by the way, is dedicated to the seniormost Phd students in my lab-who for 4 years of madness have stood there- rocks of logic admist all teh misery-of cleaning rooms and bottles,fighting with brainless gorms and bring there for their juniors-just when they needed them the most.