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Why is it hot in here? The not so mandatory apology

It was one of those damp, cloudy and rainy days. A Cognac was on my mind but a warm cup of bitter coffee would have worked just as well. Considering it was 9 in the morning, I proceeded on to acquire the latter. I'd learned over the years that especially on a dark day like this, one should not commit the mistake of reaching one's workplace too early. For then, they are surely to be understood as a person known in the parlance of our time simply as a 'pushover', 'dupe' or 'mark'. Thus I waited ample time at the coffee shop for no particular reason, pretending to read a book. While waiting and pretending to read, I could not help but overhear the boisterous conversation on the table at my left.

Since, I do not remember it verbatim and it has no connection to the main subject and the introduction has become longer than expected, I shall summarize the dialogue between our young and lovely subjects; who are only tangentially important to the main plot. The young man, aged 19-24 was impressing upon a young girl aged 19-24 that he'd just discovered a new Theory of everything . From what I understood, the theory was supposed to be highly non-mathematical, controversial, simple and yet all explaining. The reason why our young and enthusiastic scientist was not showing this work of genius to his professors was that he was too afraid of academic dishonesty and plagiarism from his professors.

Now, what I am planning to expound upon my limited understanding of temperature is likely to make me feel like that gentleman, viz. Fake. I shall still gather the courage, and with help of a couple of anecdotes try to explain what I do and do not understand about temperature. As is the case with any topic bordering between physics and metaphysics, or better put science and philosophy of science, I'm afraid that the subject matter shall slip out of my hand and what will result is pure verbiage. I shall thus take great care not to be labeled as a mystic. Why then, one will ask, I venture into these realms, instead of writing mundane computer programs which will accelerate my journey towards graduation. The answer is two fold, firstly, one perhaps needs adequate and timely dose of, for the lack of better word(s), scientific obscurantism in order to continue their struggle and contribution towards apparently futile scientific inquiry. Secondly, I like to think that I'm on the verge of an important fundamental unification discovery, a fact that has been overlooked by physicists for at least over a century, the odds for which are obviously minuscule.

With this much unwanted apology, I shall now proceed towards the understanding of temperature.

मोट्ठ्या इमारतींच्या भाऊ-गर्दीत एकच प्रचंड जल्लोष सुरु झाला. त्या भयंकर रांगेच्या मध्यभागी ती भेदार्लेली साध्वी.

पुढे श्वेताम्बर साधूंचा जत्था, मागे रडवेले कुटुंब. जेमतेम सहा वय असेल तिच. " काय हे पुण्यवान जमनदास!", गर्दित चर्चा सुरु झाली. "ब्राह्मणाला न विचारता घर बांधले नाही, कधी व्यसनांच्या आहारी गेले नाहीत, की कधी धंद्यात लबाडी! आता तर समाजाला मुलगी सुद्धा अर्पण! नक्कीच त्यांच्या स्थायी केवली विहार करत असावा!"

येथपर्यंत आल्यावर तिने आपले जुने व नवीन कपडे, दागिने, जरी पटका आणि इतर गोष्टी जमावात फेकायला सुरुवात केली. प्रत्येक जाणार्या वस्तूबरोबर साधूंचा जप, बायकांचा आक्रोश, जमानादासंचे समाधान आणि तिच उत्साह वाढतच होता. आता सगळ्या भौतिक सुखांचा त्याग करून ती सहा वर्षांची भावी साध्वी मोक्षप्रप्तिस्तव पुढे निघाली. थोड्याच दिवसात ती आपले धड न वाढलेले केस स्वतः च्याच हातांनी उपटून काढेल. तय वेदना तिला स्रामानांच्या जवळ आणि स्वतः पासून दूर नेतील.

"काय हे धन्य जमनादास, ह्या जन्मी का नसेना, मुलीस पुढील जन्मी नक्की पुरुष योनितून पक्का मोक्ष मिळेल." खुद्द सावकार सुद्धा ह्या पापक्षलानाच्या सौद्यात पक्केच निश्चल आणि तृप्त दिसत होते. "एकतर हुंडा वाचला, आणि त्यातून पुण्य लाभ!" आता सरकारी अधिकार्यांना लाच देताना जमानादासंचे मन त्यांना आतून खाणार नव्हते, किमान पुढची दोन वर्षे. "त्यानंतर, एक मंदिर बांधून द्यावे, की मग झाले." "केवढी उलाढाल वाढेल, परत हुंडा वाचला, त्यातून मुलगी साध्वी. सगलेच कसे छान जमून आले आहे."

मुलगी मात्र भयंकर खुश होती. गर्दी, तिच्या मध्यभागी सुवर्ण रथ, रथाच्या मध्यात ती, सगळ्यांचे लक्ष तिच्यावर, सुन्दर वस्त्रे, सुन्दर अन्न. तिचा आजचा दिवस तरी फारच मजेत चालला होता. सावकारही प्रसन्न दिसत होते. खिन्न होता तो वर्धमान, आणि कदाचित रिषभ, आणि पार्श्व.

From the madman's diary

Perhaps there are still children who have not eaten men? Save the children....

Original link here .

Culture of prohobitions

Do not eat meat on mondays
Do not use the right hand on your ass
Do not use the left hand while eating
Do not drink wine in silverware
Do not kill the cow, nowhere
Do not eat meat on tuesdays
Do not touch my feet
and I will not touch yours
for we do not eat meat on wednesday
Do not wear coloured clothes, oh widow
and do not wear a bindi
Do not remove your ghunghat in elderly company
and do not eat meat on thursdays
Do not wear footwear in a temple
and do not touch food with feet
salt shouldn't be the first thing in the plate
and do not eat meat on fridays, even if it is late
do not cross the sea, do not touch those people
do not marry out of caste
do not even think about religion
do not come out of your room, dirty woman
and in India, WE DO NOT HAVE GAYS
that's because, we do not eat meat on saturday
and for that matter, on sunday

He let the lady climb up the stairs and he followed. He always followed. "Up, right at the end, red door on the left", He said; in a rather loud voice. He was hurrying her. A gentleman like him was not supposed to be seen with someone like her. He was indeed a gentleman, and she was too much of a lady for him, with light red lipstick, used so much that it appeared dark, she was surely less than five hundred a night. On her way up, her heels made a rhythmic sound. It made him worry, thinking simultaneously about the neighbor downstairs. A queer old Lithuanian who had a very strong ear and the tiniest of sounds disturbed him.




Ed, the gentleman walked in the apartment. "Cognac?", he asked while taking two glasses out. Two ice cubes per glass, rockioles. She walked to the sofa and said, "This is a nice place", looking at the Matisse on the wall, 'Dessert, harmony in red'. He proceeded to turn on Brahms and dim the lights and made himself comfortable next to her, on the sofa. As soon as his hands were active, he heard a knock on the door. "Sir, keep the voice down, I'm an old man, sleep time sir!".




He lost it there. "Shut the fuck up, you son of a bitch, go away or I'll come out and shoot you!" And the knocking disappeared, followed by a swift noise of old feet, trying to achieve a speed the body didn't allow them to.

He'd seen the girl and now she had to go before everybody knew. Ed wasn't terribly excited about her departure. But he wasn't very unhappy either. His last bit of joy, he thought, was the brown liquid. It would loosen it up before he ceases, to be. A tiring day, but the ice had cooled down the Cognac. He sipped from the wrong end. Now the liquid entered his veins, as he gulped it. He felt as if, as if it was rejuvenating and soaking every single one of his tired muscles with itself. He knew it was doing exactly the opposite, he knew, he will eventually be tired, older and dehydrated with enough of the cold cold drink. The second glass was much faster than the first one. He felt relaxed now. It had to be done, before he loses the courage. "Get up, turn left and find the 44mm. Colt, Always loaded", he said to himself, not that the words came out, but he knew that was what that had to be done. A funny little piece, he'd won it in a bet, racing. Surprisingly, his gait was appreciably distorted for a man of his capacity. Even the Cognac left his side, in the last moment.

Now, he hoped and prayed too, "No disturbances now, please! Lord". He finally had the courage, if not courage Cognac; inside of him. He struggled with the locker, some important papers fell down followed by a bunch of gold bricks clamorously. After all, he was a man in the government, gold, silver, bonds, watches, that was his real income. Surprisingly, the noise did not affect him, and he was determined now, not to worry about the Lithuanian. And then, there, he found it. The funny little shining black piece: Colt 44mm, always loaded. There was a knock on the door, again, for the second time that day. "Can you please keep it down? I'll have to call the police here now!" Ed did not bother, he made his way out of the room. He wanted to be in front of Matisse, and with Brahms. He struggled a bit, he didn't want to mess up with the important papers. In the living room, the knocks were heard more prominently than the bedroom and Ed started losing his patience. He looked at the funny little piece, Colt 44mm, always loaded and smiled; weakly, very weakly. He thought about positions, "neck? head? What's more effective? What should I aim for? Less pain or more surety?" None of the words came out, but they were heard by him, no doubt. The knocks and funny accented warnings were competing with his rational calculations, seeking for his attention, the Cognac was waning too. "Papers, pain, bricks, neck, ice, the lipstick, harmony in red, Colt, Lithuania", suddenly he had a bright idea and he smiled, a bit more expressively than the last time. He calmly walked to the table, in that continual noise from outside. Filled another glass and gulped it down, this time from the correct end. Without ice. He purposefully let the glass off from his hands, ensuring more noise on the inside and thus from the outside. The police were surely on their way, so he had to be quick. He waited a bit for the Cognac to reach his body and mind.

Then, slowly he walked to the door and opened it. The man outside was stunned, looking at him and the funny little piece: Cold 44mm, always loaded. Ed stepped backwards, to make sure that he didn't miss and shoot the man in the chest. The old one crumpled like a piece of paper. On the floor, bleeding. When you die of a shock wound, the blood does not effuse continuously. It sprinkles out, and for someone with arrhythmia, at random intervals. Before Ed could proceed killing himself, he could not help but observe the miracle of life, the death. The face was painless, owing to Parkinson and it was a mute death, Harmony in red. The color, the absence of sound and emotion made his hand stiff and mind numb. He decided to wait, for the police to come.

From an equal music

The rest of the evening passes uneventfully and happily: a meal at a trattoria, a walk through small streets, a late drink at a bar. She is the woman I love, and we are in Venice, so I presume this is joy. It is.

A J P Taylor

For a long long time I wanted to go to a bar and read, not get drunk and read but just read. I could do that finally. Surprisingly, history (as boring as it may sound) was my companion, and who's better in narrating history than AJP Taylor! For example,

Revolution is for society what passionate love is for the individual; those who experience it are marked for ever, separated from their own past and from the rest of mankind.

And

Marx did not discover (this) class war. He observed it in France (in 1848) and then generalized it as a formula for the future. That is the only way of the prophet: to foretell as the future what has already happened.

There are are numerous such examples :-) I simply love the man

My beloved homeland: WTF India

I come from a country where there is at least one bizarre news a day; not from a small corner of the country but mainstream. These days it's about Shri Rama Sene and their intellectual poverty! Today they declared that any couple behaving obscenely in public will be captured digitally and put on the internet. Sadly the definition of obscenity comes from the age old laws of social misdemeanor which are in turn based on the morals of the British society in the fifties.

That aside, the justification for this publicity for couples is this:

Kumar said India is the land of Lord Krishna and nobody should compete with him in terms of love and relationship. . Click here for the bit .

WTF India!