"Life of a scientist": The extraordinary tale of Mario Capecchi

In the dying days of the second world war, the great Erwin Schrodinger published a book- a collection of lectures. In this book, he conjectured on how chemistry and physics could be used to answer the question- "What is life?" In the aftermath of the war, this book became a call to arms, for a number of physicists who had turned away from physics- distraught at the weapons they had wrought. Thus was born molecular biology. To me, they were heroes.

For those of us who have lived in a time of peace, the tales of these scientists, who lived in extraordinary times, were of an epic nature.Its not just that they were great scientists who laid the foundation of the current revolution in biology,but that their life stories bestow upon them the aura of myth and legend.

Today, I heard an extraordinary tale in the same vein- albeit of a boy who, during the war, walked barefoot down Italy's boot and has built some of the most powerful tools in understanding how mammals(mice, humans) develop from a single cell to an adult, how they fall sick, grow old and die.

Mario Capecchi (pronounce Kapeki) was invited to talk at Cornell today. It was meant to be a popular talk and not a science talk. To me, it was one of the most amazing stories I have ever heard. Mario Capecchi was born to an Italian-American mother in 1937 in Verona. His father died during the war in North Africa, fighting for Il Duce. His mother was part of an anti-fascist grouping and knew that her time alive and free was limited. So ,she gave her daughter up for adoption to a French family. She sold the rest of her belongings and gave it to an Italian family so that they would look after the four year old Mario if anything happened to her. Sure enough, she was dragged away by the GESTAPO to the concentration camp at Dachau. A year after she was arrested, Mario Capecchi was thrown out of the house he had sanctuary in. He was five years old and it was 1941! for the next four years of the war, he wandered his way south, alternating between orphanages of unlimited horror, chicory and dry bread crust and the streets where he along with other orphaned children stole food from the carts. Eventually, he was "held" at a hospital, bereft of his clothes, so that he wouldnt run away . In 1946, on his birthday, his mother, who he described as having a gift for the dramatic, arrived to take him away. She had survived the concentration camp and had spent a year searching for him. There really must be miracles. The story was reminiscent of the climax of the movie "Life is beautiful".

In 1946, Mario Capechhi was brought by his mother to the United states. He apparently waited to see if what the rest of impoverished Europe thought of the US was true. In a voice filled with emotion, he declared "People in Europe thought that the streets in the US was paved with gold. I found more, I found opportunity!" He grew up in a large Quaker commune and seemed to be deeply influenced by them.

Mario Capechhi obtained his PhD under James Watson and went onto join Harvard medical school as a professor. He described Harvard as a university where "you are asked every day as to what new thing did you find today?" He believed that this curtailed the kind of research of fundamental importance and encouraged trivial pursuits. He also noticed that while Harvard had many brilliant scientists , they failed to work in synergy and were constantly in apposition to each other. This perhaps conflicted with his Quaker upbringing. So, at his first opportunity, he moved to Utah State University- a move tantamount to academic suicide for many!

By the early 1990's the techniques invented by Mario Capechhi's lab, in collaboration with two other labs had made the manipulation of the mouse genome a routine technique. Their work has been foundational and has made possible several thousand research break throughs in recent years. In recognition of this, he won the Nobel prize for physiology in 2007. After the Nobel prize ceremony, he met a lady who turned out to be his sister, the same sister who had been given away for adoption in 1937!

I worked with mice for three years. Mario Capecchi wrote the lab manual that we all used and did many an experiment which we cited. His name was always deep within my head. I had always greatly admired his work. I always wondered what prompted him to move from Harvard to Utah. I always wanted to know who he really was. Capecchi the man was on display today. Mario Capecchi is in my pantheon of heroes.

(CREATIVE LICENSE WAS NOT REQUIRED. )

If you want to read more:

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/10/08/AR2007100800252_pf.html

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mario_Capecchi

Hanging Warren Anderson

Of late, the media (Facebook, blogs and television stations) of the affluent classes has woken up to a tragedy called Bhopal.The Indian middle classes have learnt about Methyl Isocyanate, Union carbide and probably even about a place called Bhopal. There has been much finger wagging, shows of outrage, anger, soap opera like news shows and the normal disgust we reserve for our ruling classes. At the center of this storm is one man- Warren Anderson- and the story of his escape. Our sensationalist journalists have been going over board pinning blame for his "escape" to every Tom, Dick and Harry who operated the levers of power in 1984.

However, I have a single question- Why do we need to hang Warren Anderson? To me, it seems that its vengance. Vengance not because his company's profit guided zeal lead to the death of thousands, but because it is in some way, an insult on our recently rediscovered self respect.

I argue, that its not Warren Anderson that we need to hang. In his stead, we need to hang our own heads- in shame!

For years now, we as a nation, have remembered Bhopal only on anniversaries and court cases- just like we remember Gandhi and Independence day for the holidays they bring.We have looked on while the contamination at the factory site has leached into the water table and created new generations of victims, who will pin upon themselves not only the ribbons of Bhopal,Dow and Union Carbide,but also the apathy and inertia of our government. Its a crime, that years were spent, trying to get Dow to clean up the site, but that the goverment did not take upon itself to clean up the site. Sure, the site belongs to a third party, but the land belongs to India and the people being effected are Indians. This is a crime that our government is guilty of, yet we seek to hang Warren Anderson.

Warren Anderson represents a creed of people that will cut corners to make money. The government, is responsible, for overseeing and regulating the actions of such people. The media is responsible for the constructive criticism of the government and the society it governs. Yet, a

quarter century after Bhopal,we still stand at the edge, waiting for a disaster to strike. We still have to live our nights in the industrial cities with the putrid smells of unknown gases, released by industries out to make a fast buck . Its a shame, that we have no active agency that aggressively ensures the safety of the public. A The government stands dumb. The media is vocal, only in pursuit of individuals, but not issues. We, the people, are also to blame. For the media only shows us what we want to see and many of us, with the voice, are apathetic- for the thousands who died were not our aunts and uncles, but were only maids, rickshawpullers and menial labourers.

The fourth estate, our representatives and us are all out to hang Warren Anderson and the people who let him escape. For, in them, we have a scapegoat, a fall guy for the crimes of our government,our profit driven media and our apathy. Someone called his escape "a systemic failure". I would say that, our misplaced zeal and our inability to identify with our fellow citizens is the real failure. Warren Anderson has long been dammned! We on the other hand, are slowly dragging ourselves to the gallows.

How I Learned to Stop Worrying and started to love James Joyce

This essay has two lies. One, I never stopped worrying about James Joyce. Two, I have never started to love him.In all truth, this essay has little to do with James Joyce.Actually, I must add that it has nothing to do with him whatsoever.This essay has nothing to do with various waterbodies of consciousness. It may in the end, have something to do with pseudo-nihilist literature practised by unnamed characters in the rubber monster movies of twentieth-century Japan.Ihope it has the same effect on your as Mothra and Godzilla had on Tokyo.

This essay is neither about Nora Barnacale nor her "sensual epistolary" correspondence with her husband or third wave feminist interpretations of her alter ego- Nora Joyce.However, I would like to mention that she thought, very correctly,that her husband wrote books that only her husband could read.Now, some of you would have begun to assume that I am a boor,culturally uncouth and probably uses literary masterpieces as litter for cats.But I can promise you

that its not true. First, cat litter usually has calcium bentonite. And since most paper is made of cellulose, its pointless to use James Joyce's books as cat litter.Second, I have no cats.These two observations, that flowed through my conscious about 10 seconds ago should convince you, that I do not use the books of that Irish drunk as cat litter.

There may be those of you, who believe that I am book burner.I have had several hair leveling episodes with my bunsen burner, but I defenitely dont burn books.In fact, I inspired no book burner and curiosity did not lead me to ask at what temperature, paper burnt. Though, I sometimes wonder, if I should know if the gods we worship are mortal. But,I digress.

Actually, I will digress. I find this strict conformity to one subject, is detrimental to my mental well being.This detriment makes itself apparent as a jelly like,sharp ooze.Most of this ooze, is from my disgust at our contemporary treatment of Al-Jabbr.Al-Jabbr, among other things,made gold from cabbage (and thus caused famine in germany),lent his name( for 89 dinars) to a vital weapon(algebra) in the fight against fourth grade super heros, created the Zebra (that too on a sunday) and wrote the instruction manuals for most of these achievements in a language that only he could read. Today, we call this langauge gibberish.You may all, by now have fiugured out that Joyce bashing is a strange attractor.For the object of maintaining subtlety, let me emphasize- Al jabbr wrote stuff only he coudl understannd. we called the gibberish. James Joyce wrote stuff only he could understand. We call them Ulysees,Dubliners and masterpieces.

Now, I must end. At the end, we all realize, that we are in the same place as we were in the beginning- in front of a comp. Some of you may rush the barricades, to nail me. But, Iwill tell you that they are no barricades. They were destroyed by Mothra and Godzilla's elder son, just yesterday- over who should get Iran's stockpile of NREU snacks(not really enriched uranium).

ps-dedicated to two physicists,A.Douglas,C.bergen,sixteen pairs of twin poodles and my old freind- count Duckula.

Travelogue 1: Long journey home

Long journeys are dangerous. On such journeys, if you are Bilbo- you can kill dragons. If you are Rama, you kill Ravana. The rest of us make do with lost luggage, jet lag and empty bank accounts.

Now, even if you dint do the traveling, you may suffer the ill effects of some someone close to you doing the traveling- sort of similar to second hand smoking. First, you might have to get up at unearthly hours to open the door (either to the car or the house). Second, you might have to help pack their suitcases etc. Third, you might have to read their boring travelogues. Right now, I am inflicting, upon you, the absolute pain and boredom of reading my travelogue.

A few aeons ago, I crossed one ocean, a couple of seas and continents to come to Amrika. In light of the long time interval that managed to pass itself by and in part due to the availability of a paid vacation( vacca= latin for cow, ation= the action of, thus vacation= action of being a cow), I took the greatly unexpected and shocking decision of going home.

My first limb of the journey took me from the middle of nowhere to new york to get a bite off the big apple. The stay here was mostly uneventful with the exception of a friend driving up the wrong side of the street. While this accident caused a panic attack in the car, a similar action was carried out voluntarily and with much sangfroid, on the streets of Hyderabad, while discussing the lack of lane discipline on Indian roads. I must also mention that I -the common NYC taxi commuter-was, most probably, swindled to the tune of a few million (8.3 to be precise) dollars by the cab driver (http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2010/03/12/nyc-taxis-overcharged-pas_n_497662.html)

My flight from NYC took off without much drama and flew well enough. The few sore exceptions included a lawyer sitting next to me. Her excellency would not switch off the phone till the plane flew over the atlantic- where I believe the cell phone signals are a little weak. By the time I landed in Frankfurt, I had consumed two dinners,four glasses of juice, twelve pounds of boredom and thirty six winks - interrupted only by 500 days of summer and a snoring snooty lawyer.

Frankfurt at 5 AM on christmas day, was all you would expect of it. Vast empty lobbies with occasional, but large concentrations of Indians- flying to Hyderabad, Ahmedabad, Delhi, Mumbai and the washrooms (to brush their sparkling teeth). The only exceptions were solitary Indians, manning check-in desks and snack bars. The ones at the snack bars were not really mallu but insisted on giving me euros as change for the dollars I paid.

Now, in due course of time, it was time..for me to fly on further. There was a long line of Indians who waited to charge into the plane..so they could find cabin spots for the millions of tons of hand baggage they carried.I often wonder whether the 'Vimanas' of the Indian epics failed to make it to the modern era primarily because ancient India failed to discover the concept of limiting cabin baggage.

During the halt, I looked at each humanoid entity, to determine which would share my seat. It could have been the exceptionally pretty woman, it could have been the economist I gossiped with or even a normal non-entity. It was however, a male of the species. He was the type who had spent a couple of days in various airports- delayed by storms and the like. That was by itself not particularly tragic. It was also not tragic that he dint remove his heavy jacket during those storm ridden days. It was however, tragic that he decided to unbutton and remove his jacket- the moment he sat next to me. For a screamingly long instant, Dante's last level of hell opened its gates to olfactory senses. In that moment, the agnostic that I was, made a deal with God to see if he was really almighty.

The plane took off and turned south east. "Le Tormentor mon olfaction" of the aisle seat slipped into the seat and into a deep sonorous sleep. In the midst of the smell hell, the roof leaked!Yes, the roof of an Airbus, A340...pride of the Airbus family..leaked water that dripped onto me at regular intervals. But then, lo and behold!There was a miracle. A passenger on the seat behind me, my guardian angel, got up and sprayed "Le Tormentor mon olfaction"with a deodorant. Perhaps, god exists and is almighty.

Then, the plane flew on, the food flew in. As I flew over the Black Forest, there was a cake,over Turkey, I was served some sweet meats. Over the Caspian, I was served some eggs. Over Iran, there was some tea. As the procession of food went by, I came closer and closer to India. I could no longer sit in my seat. Neither could any of the other passengers. For it seemed like half the passengers knew each other, but were according to impeccable german efficiency- seated separately. Children (about 25-3o year old) were separated from their parents. Friends were divided (for about 8 hours). Yet, no wall or fence (that the germans could come up with) kept them apart.

At last, without any drama, the plane touched down. I was nearly home..er, the new airport was a few light years away. But, I was home....to be contd...if I have the mood, time and the boredom.

If Shivaji came back.

The council of the afterlife carefully examined the application, and debated over it for a few years. Then they granted the applicant's wishes, with all the regular conditions ofcourse.

On a remote hill, in the centre of India,amidst the broken fortresses, a King of old reappeared.
His name was much celebrated, for he was the high king of the Marathis, and a few centuries after his birth- the overburdened bearer of its pride. Curious, he was- about how his land was and whether it had prospered.Now, his wish was granted. He could observe and speak, eat and drink. He could ofcourse claim that he was Shivaji...but who would believe. Even in the land of superstitions and Shivaji worshippers, he would be yet another actor. He had sixty earth days ofcourse, before he would have to beam back to the other world.

Much aghast he was, at the broken state of his proud forts. One after another, they were just mudpiles flying foreign flags and guides speaking strange tongues. The marathi they spoke was a strange too, but several hundred years would normally do that. He walked the land..through sugarcane and paddy, highways and hotels. He was crestfallen, to learn that there was a king no more and that his precious state was ruled by outsiders...from that ancient source of evil..Delhi. His work had been broken.

On a lonely rock, atop a windy hill, he lamented the loss of his kingdom. While in his anguish, in the far off distance, he beheld a mighty city...stretching down to the sea, glowing brightly in the overcast monsoon darkness. Over many a days he drifted into the city. In his time, this land was just wet marshes and islands. In the harbours, he could perceive a great many ships flying the same foreign flag. As was his reason for coming, he spoke to many- the fishermen who spoke his tongue, the driver of the horseless carriage who spoke another and the fire worshipping man who spoke a third. Mumbai the city was called.

He learned of how the world had changed since he departed to the next. He learnt of the British, the fight for freedom, the birth of a new India and the importance of Mumbai in this new nation.
It was not clear , whether he appreciated it completely. But, his opinion was no longer of importance. He had only come to see how his land was prospering.

He found that there were still some who claimed to defend his country for him. Infact, they seemed to believe exactly what he believed on his death bed. He wondered if they were his true successors. One day, he went to a large hall, where the shadows of people moved and spoke...larger then lifer they were. The shadows were descriptive of a man(we will refer to as A) who claimed that invaders from other parts of India had to leave his state. Shivaji, the courageous, found it hard to understand why A was being deified by an actor who was from the far north and a director from the far south, the very people who A wanted to be kicked out. It made little sense to Shivaji. Infact, it would make little sense to any one, why A was being deified.

Shivaji's time on this world, was once again ticking to an end. He,as was his nature, wanted to one last time defend his old country. He joined A's army and marched on a tall building. He put his club to good use and was once again in his element- the fearless king. In marathis defending outsiders, he saw traitors. In outsiders working to make Mumbai and themselves prosperous, he saw parasites. Such was his worldview, for he was from a time when the Marathas- feared warriors, fought hard to save their independence and their way of life. That, that time had gone, was not appreciated by Shivaji.

A's activities had set the city afire. Out with all those people who cant speak out tongue, they cried. Shots echoed in the distance, as the local government struggled to bring control. Shivaji ran now, trying to find as many invaders before the messengers of heaven arrived to get him. In the darkness and the melee of battle, Shivaji looked like one of those men from the north..yet, he did not realize it. At one corner, stood the army he had fought proudly for. Into their waiting arms he ran. He let down his guard and smiled. The smile froze, as he noted that a large sword had pierced him in the heart. He felt no pain, for his body was only a vehicle for his spirit. The body lay limp and the spirit of Shivaji drifted up into the world of the afterlife above.
He beheld with his senses, his lands once again...far they stretched, further then he could imagine. Beyond its ancient boundaries, the lands of his country stretched on. It seemed that his lands had grown and become part of a larger land...with wide hills, quick rivers and thick forests.
A light dawned on him. His time had passed.

Postscript: No offense to mighty Shivaji.Offense meant to several morons, who inhabit the 21st century but use brains produced in the 17th.

Remembering Mrs. Gandhi, for what ?

I was seven months old when Indira Gandhi died.My dad apparently cried. A lot of other people cried and a lot of others- died. On the occasion of the twenty-fifth death anniversary, many have used the occasion to write essays that have been ubiquitously titled- Remembering Mrs. Gandhi.

My title does not imply disrespect, though I cant claim to have any real respect for her.
I am just disconcerted by modern day perspectives of Indira's contribution to India as described by several news outlets. It reminds me of the slogan- " India is Indira". We remember only her achievements,but not her crimes. Yes! crimes. I will not get into any of the hearsay and rumors that have circulated about her and the way she governed. She was an Iron lady etc and fought the Congress syndicate to become prime minister. So, yes, she was a hard knuckled politician. In this character, she was responsible for the dismissal of the first democratically elected leftist government in the world (in Kerala). She was also responsible for the rise of the extremist movement in Punjab, one that eventually lead to her death.

She also ushered in the era of institutionalized political corruption and incompetence.Her abolition of elections of Congress leaders ensured that only her cronies,not people of talent, were in power. By annointing Sanjay Gandhi her sucessor, she made a mockery of democracy and set an example that Shivsena, TDP and DMK have managed to replicate with much efficiency.

Then, ofcourse, there was the Emergency. India has actually had multiple emergencies. However, only one is reffered to as "The Emergency". In her hunger for power, the Iron Lady hammered democracy into cutlery to serve herself,her family and her closed circle of fawning courtiers.Much has been said about the emergency and I will not go there, except to wish that we dont ever go through another again. I dint live through one and dont want to live through one.

Those of us who want, remember her as Kali- the decimator of Pakistan. But I urge you to consider one important statement. Liberating Bangladesh was no doubt a great military victory.
It possibly increased the confidence of Indian citizenry, but arguably made no lasting contribution to India. On the other hand, her methods to guarantee her political power have poisoned democracy, governance and India itself.

Lagaan in chinese

Nobel and Ignobel

Nobel and Ignobel were brothers, step brothers infact. Nobel was the nerd. He invented dynamite, gelatin-the explosive that is not made from cows and wrote a play called Nemesis. The play about an Italian noble (not nobel) woman was so horrendous that his wife eloped with his step brother and his well wishers burnt the rest of the copies of the play. Depressed,broken, but not bankrupt...Nobel was on his death bed. A french newspaper greatly exaggerated reports of Nobel's death and wrote about how he had invented weapons that killer faster then ever before. (this was wierd, since the death of even the most blood thirsty, but victorious despots only leads us to express our sorrow..but not our happyness). Our man Nobel, read his obituary, was upset and to link his name with something better...created the Nobel prizes. Oh! Nobel laureates, wake up. You are winning bloodied money. (not to say that I wont take it, if they give it to me).
(Note: Indian readers will also know the name Bofors. Nobel, at one point of time owned bofors).

Now to the step brother.Ignobel was a ladies man who made a living running a circus in Russia. He was infact, the creator of the Russian circus.He never liked his brother.

In true filmy style, they fought each other. It was a long and deadly vendetta.It was also not much helped by the fact that Nobel's wife eloped with Ignobel. Anyway, after Nobel's death, Ignobel, still hale and healthy, decided that his name too should live on.Thus were created the Ignobels, in memory of the fun he had.
This year's Nobel and Ignobel prizes have been announced.

Its always fun to start off with the Ignobels, awarded by a very interesting journal called Annals of improbable research (http://www.improb.com/airchives/paperair/index.htm). This year's chemistry prizes went to Tequila diamonds and a brassiere that can be converted into a gas mask. I think that tequila diamonds are an excellent idea. I have had the horror of multiple encounters with that vile substance and guess that another grad student like me came up with the idea of putting it to better use. However, I wonder what happens to the catterpillar at the bottom of each bottle. I am told that there was no tradition to pickle a caterpillar in the bottle.But at some point of time, an enterprising salesman realised that the americans would drink more of it , if it came with something wierd.

Now to the bra, its clearly for women who work in really hazardous environs. Why else would you need two of them?Further, whats gonna happen to the men? This is just sexist. Its just more evidence of the feminist plot to take over the world.

(note: to people who like annals of improbable research,I also suggest http://www.jir.com/ )

Moving onto the Nobels, the biology/physiology/medicine prize went to a trio- Elizabeth Blackburn and her student Carol Grieder and an independently working person Jack Tsoztak(or something like that). They solved a pretty important puzzle and much deserved it. As usual, the Lasker awards, given to them in 2006, predicted their nobel well in advance. I will direct you to wikipedia for all the facts about telomere and telomerase (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Telomerase). I will add what wiki doesnt say. Telomerase was once the magic bullet to make us live forever. However,only diamonds from tequila are forever, we may at most die another day- with or without telomerase. Despite this horrible fact, many biology students have had a love affair with telomerase- brief for some, longer for others.

There is also one other lore about telomerase.Carol Greider is often portrayed as the greatest phd student that ever was- since she discovered telomerase on Christmas eve-hard at work while everyone else sang christmas carols. Cornell was also all abuzz becase Dr.Jack was once a grad student at Cornell...in the aeons long forgotten. This nobel prize also marks another important trend: the rising number of women in biology.

Now the physics nobel went to people who got us fiber/fibre (do you speak british english or american)optic cables and CCD. CCD brings to us digital cameras in their most ubiquitous use and the Hubble space telescope in its most exotic use. While it is debatable whether it deserves a nobel, its in keeping with previous nobels going to technological developments like PCR, rather than a fundamental scientific advance. Now, the Fibre optic cable nobel is bound to cause some heart burn. While, Dr. Kao undoubtedly made several critical technical contributions, several others including an Indian called Narinder Singh (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Narinder_Singh_Kapany) made pioneering contributions, which have possibly gone unrecognized. However, I am not competent to understand Dr. Kao's contributions and will leave it as such.

The chemistry and peace prizes are yet to come. I wonder who the peace prize is gonna go to. I am betting that it would be a somewhat not so well known figure, so in short..i dont have a clue.

I stopped studying chemistry 5 years ago.I will stop at that. Nobel prizes in Literature are usually for books that are of the Sylvia Plath school of literature- i.e books you wouldnt read or write if you were in the right frame of mind. Some of the authors are so obscure that some judges openly boycotted the final choice. However, in truth , there are many a nobel prize winning book that make a good read. My candidate for a nobel in literature would be Bill Waterson, for Calvin and Hobbs...which must be one of the greatest pieces of American literature ever.

However,here is a true prediction for a future nobel prize: Yamanaka and others who have discovered the technique of making embryonic stem cell like cells from adult tissues.

with that..........I end this rambling discourse.

Note: Some creative license used.

Around the World in stereotypes

Around the world in 80 days was one of my favourite books, as a child. So, in honour of those days, I today watched a version of this movie starring David Niven. The movie, and in retrospect, the book, should be labeled "Around the World in Sterotypes". The movie starts in a Gentleman's England where the maintenance of standard time, the drinking of tea and the exhibition of sangfroid that would put a million fictional spies to shame is all the rave.
First stop in the movie is Spain. Spain has his august highness, a moorish prince and ofcourse a bullfight. I was willing to accept this deviation since the man playing Passepartout was a real life Bull fighter of some fame called Cantiflas.
The next major stop is India- which is ofcourse replete in elephants, holy men and human sacrifice .Through the twenty minutes spent by the movie in India, I dint see anyone who was not involved in some sort of activity that involved religion or mysticism.It almost seemed that no living Indian was normal. Hong Kong made up for its lack of exotic features via ostrich drawn cabs. What ostriches were doing in HK, I really dont know.
Much comment was reserved for the United States, which is reffered to by Philleas Fogg as " a very primitive country".I had a hearty laugh when Fogg reprimands his man servant for tipping a waiter at an SF bar with the splendid line- "Do not spoil the natives."I wonder what Fogg would have to say if he realised that you have to spoil them with 15% of your money each time you go out.There was a 2 second Frank Sinatra cameo. He was playing the piano in the bar.Maybe, it was just before he approached the Corleones to sort out his problems! No movie about the wild west is quite finished without the red indians. They are at first peaceful. As the ticket collector in the train explains, "You can say that by the peace pipes they are smoking".The wild west is wild, with falling bridges, falling rocks and ofcourse more hostile indiansHowever, the tactical maneouvering of the indians is rather limited because of fenced off farm land lying next to the rails. To end it all, life in the United states is ended by the cavalry riding to the rescue. There were some skunks, which I think is an important feature of life in the United States.

When I finished the 3 hr long movie, which could have been 2 hours or less, I just wondered about what Jules Verne must have thought about each country as he wrote the original book. Much of the book's alure is the adventure of traveling through strange lands.Jules Verne was by any standards, a well read man. He would have probably cherry picked facts to make his book a blockbuster. The lands he describes arent that strange anymore. But, it brought to me an important realisation- spin doctoring is an ancient art, further- its useful in any era.

What is India

For twenty-one of my twenty-three years, I lived in Hyderabad( a city in the state of Andhra Pradesh).I was brought up, never in doubt of my identity as an Indian. But I never ever asked the question of what makes an Indian. This question, I posed to myself after many an important personal experience.

Over the last two years, I stayed in Bombay, working at an institute which attracts people from India and beyond. Many an experience here made me ask that question. A Taiwanese student who had come for a conference after meeting half a dozen people from all over India- remarked that they all looked so different. We are also different, yet what makes us a nation?

Nations all over the world have been mostly constituted on that basis of the ethnic nature of their populace. In a few countries such as the United States, different ethnic groups are mashed into one. I argue that India stands apart, a society of not one or two different ethnic groups ( as seen in many countries), but a collection of disparate and diverse groups. I feel proud that India, essentially a freak, a unique example in history stands strong as a nation- nearly sixty years after its birth.Again, what makes an Indian?

Is it a common pre-modern history that contributes to this? We do share a common pre-modern history.The Mogul empire,the gupta empire etc. did bring unify large parts of India.But i argue that many European nations were once part of the Roman empire, the French empire etc, but they all don't claim to be a part of a common country. Fifty years of attempts have brought them only to a community. No, our common pre-modern history is not what welds us together.

I have heard from many a people that its a religion that unites us. This is a supremely fallacious argument. We have the second largest Muslim population in the world. According to the introduction to the law of the land that Indira Gandhi got added,we are a secular nation. I agree that the secularism is maintained in place not only by government policy but by the actions of one religion discriminating against another. Anyway, further, an overwhelmingly large majority of south America is Catholic Christian, but they never failed to unite. We could have had multiple republics within India which were of a Hindu.No, religion is not an argument.

......to be contd.


Continued at long last....

I must confess, after writing the first part, I realised that I had no real clue as to what India is and what defines us as a nation state. My inspiration to finish this, ironically comes from a recent BBC documentary called 'the story of India'. In it, is described the march of India and its population from prehistory to the modern era. It then stuck me that there were two common features or threads that run through the whole of the subcontinent, two important features that make India. Also,some of my current arguments may be at odds with what I have previously written. Its part of an evolving argument I am having about what really makes India and who is an Indian.

Our ancient history:
Of the known history of the subcontinent, modern geopolitical India has been united for only for a small fraction of time. However, culturally, the subcontinent has been united for most of this history. I will make no claim to Indian culture being a North Indian or Aryan synthesis. However,all I will say is that the geographical limitations placed by the mountain ranges in the north and east and strong native cultures in the west created a real mixing pot. The cultural influences of the north would spread south and and southern cultural influences would spread north. As the centuries passed by, though they were some differences, the Indian subcontinent as a whole could be considered by certain metrics to have similar cultural features.
Important among these are the spread of Hindu, Buddhist and Jain religions. There is ample evidence that while these spread to the south of India from the north, there was a great schools of Hinduism and Buddhism in the south. From the south spread a multitude of dance forms to the north. This cultural synthesis is one of the most important features of India.
One important event that cannot be brushed over is the role played by Sanskrit as a progenitor of multiple primary languages in north and central India. However, I agree that Sanskrit probably had lesser influence of Tamil or that it has been purged over the ages.( My understanding of the linguistic relationships of Indian languages requires more reading and I will make no judgements.)Sanskrit would have provided a conduit for ideas, a factor important in the homogenization of Indian culture.

Now, the important question is - How does this part of Indian history really affect modern India? It might be argued that several Indian political and cultural practises. Hammurabi's laws have often been held up as the progenitor of law in many regions of the world and has probably affected us also. However, some of the greatest influence on our laws, both those in the constitution and those that are social are Ashoka's edicts. Why else would we use his symbols as our national emblems? The concept of peaceful coexistence has also been an important feature of Indian foreign policy. Arguably, therefore, these concepts have also deeply influenced us through the generations. As the 'story of India' made me realise, we are the projections of three or more millenia of history.

Medieval and Modern Indian History:

As Northern India came under the infuence of various Islamic Dynasties, North Indian cultures diverged from the more insular Southern India. Language, architecture and religion were heavily influenced by Muslim invaders coming from the west and central asia. This is a defining point in Indian history creating a point of divergence between southern and northern india, a divergence that would need to be bridged. The divergence and some could claim- animosity between the south and the north is so huge that they might have really been two independent nations. So, why are they one nation? Why do people on both sides of the Vindhyas consider themseleves Indians? I think here in lies the importance of a few good men who brought India together at Independence.
There are many who claim that it was really the British who united India. But they forget, that at independence- Kashmir, Hyderabad, Goa and Pondicherry werent really a part of India. Also, they forget that most of the princely states were given the choice to secede and form independent kingdoms. So how did the Indian national identity crystallize? There exists a reasonable case that this identity arose due to the actions of a few men.

Indians are prone to hero worship. Indian religions and culture, more than any other mainstream culture, has portrayed god in human form- or shall I say forms. In an extension of this habit, we have considered a few men- the likes of Gandhi and Nehru to be demigods. One provided the culture of ancient India moderated by the modern world while the other provided the modern world tempered by ancient India.Modern India rallied to them. As far as I see it, the British provided a medium through which these men reached out to modern India. Its probably the love of these men that fashioned modern India- bridging the gaps that arose between the vastness of the Indian subcontinent.

Post independence, we were all conditioned to believe that diversity was the normal state of existence. Regional heros became national heros. Thats what I think India really is, a melting pot. Thats where I think we are heading- towards a synthesis of north and south, old cultures that never die but are only refashioned by modern gods.

I hope I have done a modicum of justice to this topic. I am not sure I have touched all the important points and more importantly, my ideas on this topic are still evolving.

Ice and snow

Ithaca is picture perfect when it snows. Cosy cottage like houses, pine trees and beautiful lonely lamps, all blanketed by white snow. Hurts the eyes by day, glows deceptively warmly in the moonlight and forms snow men when the university is in session. From the hilltop, you can see the world white. From the warm indoors, you know why the poet fluffs about fluffy snow. You can see the ploughs clearing the road and a lone hooded pedestrian walking through the falling cotton fluffs.
When you become that lone hooded pedestrian, you can hear the tobogganing and snow fight shrieks. You hurry and scurry, seeing the rabbits that dint hibernate. You get out of the falling snow, shake your shoes and reenter the warmth of the home.

When the mercury goes up, you can hear the snow cakes on the roof fall. You can see the snow on the trees cave in. As a few more days go by, a million salt whitened feet tread the road, turning snow to slime, making you wish that ice and snow could sublime. The feet that tread, encrusted white with salt, slip and slither down the sidewalks. The cold wind blows and the slime freezes into ice, tripping the lone walking man. Now, why dint Frost ever write about the downsides of snow and ice?

I am not yet bored of winter. It is dull and grey, but when the feather like snow falls to the ground, I am still enthralled. But not too long can the thralldom of winter hold me. Come March and April, winter will pierce my senses and make me long for the warmth and color. But then will come April and May with spring warmth, brightness and warm rain. And as they say, Rains in spring, flowers in summer bring.

I wait.

when Gladiator wanted to meet LOTR

Oh! its wearisome. People made two good movies: LOTR aka lord of the rings and then Gladiator-vice versa etc.
Now, some others, you know- the more creative of the lot...wanted to make a third.So, they obviously and most brilliantly decided to mix the two.Viola...you get 'the last legion. With Ben Kingsley, a small unknown kid, Colin Firth of the Pride and Prejudice and Shakespeare in love fame, Ms.Aishwarya Rai Bachan of the Bride and Prejudice (or shall we say'Ludhiana se LA balle balle) Infamy come together to bring us a pathetic movie that could have been brought into existence only by Merlin's magic. It requires talent to make such distilled nonsense.

The movie is essentially the search for Ceaser's sword ( and my toothbrush) which is supposed to hold in it unimaginable power (not using my toothbrush can also have devastating affects). So the last 'emperor' of the western roman empire- Augustus (or augustulus as history knows it)- this young brat who already knows valour and oratory and all those fancy things - finds the sword. But as he no longer has an empire...sets out in the company of Ms. Rai ( a paid bodyguard from Byzantine empire), Mr.Firth( an idealistic commander of a non-existent army), Mr.Kingsley ( Merrrline) all set out to britannica to find legion of roman soldiers who went missing. Along the way, we see signs of roman heritage- you know the same things we see today- acqueducts, statues etc. Both Kingsely's role, the quest for the sword and the broken statues reek of LOTR.

Anyway, they reach england, fight battle, the last legion which doesnt want to fight, finally fights, turns turtle (you know, the great roman tactic) and then, the young king, who was actually an emperor, takes the name of pendragon (son of dragon) and throws the sword which was so carefully guarded into a stone, where the sword gets stuck....as we continue watching this rainy saturday afternoon movie, there is a young boy being tutored by Mr.Merlin aka kingsley(who thought his role of a warrior shaman was mysterious and interesting) named...............yes, you guessed right- Arthur...we have king Arthur. It was a very emotional moment for me.Even, Rai has her bollywood moment and everyone is happy.

I hope they dont make a prequel( and name it the 'second last legion') or make a sequel (and call it the return of the last legion).And, Ms.Rai, you werent a great bodyguard.Punjabi bridal roles are just about good for you.


Declaration: I am not Anti-bollywoodist, sexist or exorcist.

Graduate Student's Guide to Ithaca-getting here and geographical location...you know what i mean

Now now, getting to Ithaca is fun.Lots of fun. There are a lot of people who besmirch it by claiming that its in the middle of nowhere. But gentle sirs, apologies.....thou art all mistaken.Please note map above to find that we at ithaca, are not in the middle of nowhere...as a matter of fact, we are several miles from it...you know, that fancy measure of distance the americans use.
Anyway, getting back to the map, the blue lines are streams and lakes.Use this map to get to ithaca ofcourse. You will find the directions to the middle of nowhere in almost all tourist guides.

Transport to getting here: There are always a sufficiently large number of propeller driven planes ( were any of us born when they were still being used?) that land on an airstrip here that is like out of ones of those war movies...you know, secret agent lands on small airstrip, the brave pilot screeches his brakes to a halt, something along those lines. For the less adventurous, you can ofcourse just take the bus from the great port city of New York. You get into a bus, which goes in and out of a tunnel and drives down the highway for a boring 5.5 hours. However, do the trip by day and you get to see all the woods you have to get close to the middle of nowhere. You can then, call yourself a babe in the woods.
For the railroad inclined, we are sorry to you.We have a train, but its essentially a toy train.Ezra Cornell did once build a rail road, but quite a bit of it quit and became a jogging trail...very nice one at that too.
For the aquatically inclined among, you.....well, there is quite a bit of hope. Down, the hill,o'er the great finger of Lake cayuga, lies a path to the Eire canal...(well, it does get a bit eiree here, but we manage) and ofcourse from the eire, we can reach the sea...cant we?

If none of these things suit you, we are building a mass transference system...scotty,er...shall i say subramaniam ( from IIT, madras) beam ' em up.


ps- No offense meant to all ithaca lovers.

Graduate Student's Guide to Ithaca

In view of the upcoming anniversary of one slightly eventful year at Ithaca,I have decided to write a "Graduate Student's Guide to Ithaca".With detailed directions on even how to get here, this might also be used for all you other lesser mortals (God is not so vengeful as we make out, he may just forgive you all). So, the coming few posts will address atleast the following themes: Ithaca's Location and getting here instructions, Geography and looks, Cornell University,Wild Life and ofcourse my personal favourite-the lovely weather. I havent yet decided if there will be others to add, but I might just condescend to add a few more.


:)

skunk worked

It was a dark and not so stormy night. The moon was hidden by some busy clouds, running hither tither under an invisible influence.I, ofcourse your favourite protagonist was wondering why. I heard nothing, yet through the corner of my eyes, i detected movement. In the darkness, I knew, I had been hit by a skunk's spray.Luckily for me, I was protected by my favourite bag, a fully hands shirt and a new pair of cotton trousers. That saved me a lot of irritation. The Skunk's spray,a sulphur compound- smells just like a good distillate of the worst odours you can think of. No, its not like the sweat that pours out your smelly neighbor, your dog's pee or even the most evil smelling thing you can think of.Its not a loud smell. To express in terms of sound, its just so highpitched, your nose blows up.
This, spray, which has been evolved as a defensive mechanism doesnt apparently work against its greatest enemy- the automobile.Anyway, all of you, please stay out of the skunk's way.

After the Left

Energy theft is rife, a capital crime.Electricity is available for emergency needs and public transport only.The rest of us make do as best we can with solar energy and dark streets.Economic growth is ground to a halt. Industry sputters out just the minimum produce. Rationing is back in a big way in India. Welcome to India of the future.

This is one possible reality in the near future in India if we allow the Indian communist party their whims, fancies and fantasies. The communists, intellectual and unselfish, always thinking of the good of the nation and humanity as a whole, worried about the evil influence of the United States, never in pursuit of votes have started a rather principled protest even Satre would have been proud of. Bravo yechuri, bravo both you Karats.

Urrgh...every time I think about, I feel something jarring in my brain. I think they are almost treasonous, every one of the communist party members. They oppose everything, every single logical thing that is required to keep India moving forward. The welfare state has not been sustained in the west. What makes them believe that we can build one in India with a population many magnitudes higher?

And their foreign policy, must have come straight from a tablet they found alongside a dinosaur's fossil. While I agree on the need for an independent foreign policy, their policy smacks of just the opposite. Their entire policy is just to stick to what Indian needed to do in the last century: oppose everything the west does.People, wake up.Colonialism is over. The great evil aka United States, while using us, might also be of use to us. The Cold war is over. Wake up.Were you all sleeping, my dear communists? Its not too hard to believe.

Now, the nuclear deal. We obviously have vast reserves of oil, coal, uranium all that. Coal and uranium are available in supermarkets and ofcourse oil is in every backyard. All you need is a hand driven pump to pump out all the oil.We have so much oil. The communist party in its sublime brilliance has seen all this.Why do we need the nuclear deal with the united states then? Humorous man thou art manmohan. We ofcourse have gas to get from Iran. Even if our own resources run out, we can get it from Iran.We ofcourse forget that the price of all fossil fuels is sufficient high to fill it in nice big tubes and wear it around your neck instead of gold. And also, not to mention that the pipeline bringing gas from Iran has to pass through a nation that we have fought four major wars with in the last century. Again, Karat-were you sleeping, all comfortable in your airconditioned house?

Communists, either you are morally corrupt or just plain old stupid as stupid gets. Please dont ruin my country.Please. If your lofty goals are true, why dont you just go to countryside, use your money and your brilliance, help the farmers make more food, more money and live happily. I once knew a person. He was smart and communist and preached us alot of it. When the time came,when there was a dying institution below waiting to be taken control of, he was there- a circling vulture. All ye communists, you are just that....vultures waiting to take over nations when they fail. Please dont work towards making them fail.

Cinema Watch: Mr.Smith goes to Washington

Not so long ago, Senator Thomas Jefferson Johnson (Eddie Murphy) played the role of a conscientious conman senator in the movie ' Distinguished gentleman'. Low on logic , high on slap stick , this movie- Dummies guide to lobbying and washington- made an almost forgettable ninety minute entertainer (for those who could bear Mr.Murphy).
Quite a long time ago, another movie was made, with a similar premise....with no slap stick and with probably James Stewart's finest silver screen performances. This was 'Mr.Smith goes to Washington'. A scout master who quotes Lincoln and reads the constitution, expected to be a simpleton and not to nose into a dam being built for purposes of graft, Mr.Jefferson Smith (note the similarity) is appointed by a corrupt governor to the american senate.

Mr.Smith attempts to build a scout camp at the same place as the dam leading to a tiff with the powerful forces that control the political machine. When these machines aim to throw him out of the senate on charges of graft, the movie goes into over drive.Smith, aided by a previously cynical aid ( the beauty in the movie) sets off on oratory to convince people of his innocence and the identity of the machine corrupting washington. Carrying out a fillibuster, Smith talks for almost twenty four hours but is almost forced to admit defeat by 'Taylor-made' (Taylor being the head of the political machine) public opinion. However, he goes upto one of Taylor's men who was once a principled man and appeals to his better judgement in a moving speech....forcing him to accept that Smith was right. A lasting image from the movie is the smiling speaker of the american senate who watches first with amusement and then with happiness as he sees Smith's performance . ( i think the speaker is a representation of the good that exists in every establishment however corrupt)

The movie deals with a number of themes including democracy, the freedom of the press, the purity of idealists, the immortality of hope, the attraction of innocence and the power of one. The movie is one of those where the most special effect is the acting of the protagonist, a movie which leaves you happy and inspired.

interesting lives in ithaca

Living in an international community often has interesting outcomes. While I sit peacefully across the bench from a Chinese graduate student, our governments fence across the border. A british scientist i met the other day told me that we Indians speak the finest english anywhere. However, our terminology only confused my Romanian boss. While I "shifted" from one house to another and she laughed at my Indian english term for moving, my american batchmates were only much amused by the shifting. Apparently, my knowledge of english 2.0 is not too good.

Bill the Chinese waiter with the anglicized/americanized name in 'Apollo Chinese restaurant' was getting me my check for General Tso's chicken, the hottest selling commodity in this restaurant- with a reputation for greeness and recycling disposable spoons. I wondered about the origins of this dish, a chef's speciality. I found out that this dish, named after a 19th century Chinese general (Zuo Zongtang), was really and ethnically Chinese, traceable to the native populace of China Town, New York City.

more snippets will be dished out shortly, as and when they happen

india is an exception

Not so long ago, I was reading about the role of language and ethnicity in conflict and separation. In this, the author said that the exception to this is India. He went onto say that India is an oddity, not supposed to exist at all, and that it sat outside all the laws that applied to sociology. More recently, a friend in political sciences aired a similar opinion. Its amazing that we survive as a nation-state despite the zillions of languages that we have...when a 'western nation with an advanced civil structure' like Belgium is fighting over language. However, unlike India, it has two languages!

see below for more details:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/europe/7148307.stm

maggi and why i shouldnt be bloggin right now

Right now, there is snow blowing all over the place. To look from behind a warm window, its talcum powder blowing around in the wind. To be walking, in the cold breeze, its like a barbecue over a volcano.Anyway, there are still some psychos who are jogging around in shorts, t-shirt , ipod and ear plugs dangling down. All these joggers, i would like to stop them and call them-psychos. These are the kind of people who give ones with very healthy lifestyles, a bad name.


Now about the maggi. To all those people who dont know what maggi is. Tis a nearly-ready- to eat swiss copy of an east asian/oriental staple food that is made in india. I am sure that all the connoisseurs are by now rubbing their hands in glee , waiting to gourge and swim their way through maggi. Maggi consists of strings with a vague resemblance to noodles. Its the main source of emergency nutrition for the starved, lazy and 'horrible cook 'varieties of students who inhabit the worlds of cobwebbed hostels. Over time, the maggi made by these individuals evolves to include whatever they couldnt add to their last cooking experiments (usually other versions of maggi).

I am starting to believe that maggi is part of a global conspiracy, to replace all the food that is good in this world. I believe that its succeeding.