A reply to "27 and unmarried"

I recently came across this article "27 and Unmarried?" on somebody's facebook post. This article describes the thoughts of a yet unmarried Indian lady with regards to her dream mate. I would recommend reading this article. It's well written and rather enjoyable. I was thinking of a suitable/witty comment, but I could hardly come up with one. You see, an fb comment needs to be just short enough to elicit reader interest. However, I had lots to say. In order to do justice I decided to dedicate an entire blogpost to the reply. The reader would have to read her article first in order to make sense of this blogpost.

I do not know the author of the article. Nor have I read her blog before. However, I am an Indian-Bengali-USA-residing-Coder-Single-Guy and this just got personal. Ofcourse no malice was directed at any particular group. Still I could not help feeling a touch helpless after reading this article. Helplessness at my own fate. There were several aspects to her article that I had an opinion on.

On self-made men and romance : I think I can understand what Italian and Greek men have. The zest for life and the strength of character that makes men men. The behavior of men is ruled by desire, emotion and knowledge. A person who can harness the power of all of these at will and with with moderation is justifiably a genuine man. And I am not making this shit up. Plato is responsible for spewing this wisdom. It's not that Indian guys are incapable of being adventurous romantic men. But you must consider the circumstances. Every loving responsible Indian mom and dad, wants their son to be successful in life. That usually ends up making zombie coders who emigrate to the US. If the circumstances were different. If there was economic safety, freedom of spirit, art and adventure in youth then things would be different. You would certainly get a lot more Italian types in Indian men. It's nurture not nature here that is messing things up. How I wish the environment could be changed.

On Dominance Relationships: The author talks about her MB man taking the initiative always. In ballroom dancing it's always the guy who is supposed to lead. However, the dominatrix in the woman is also pretty strong. That's why "girls with oodles of self esteem" are not to be taken lightly. Sparks fly. An aggressive courting ensues until one softens up. \cite{Brothers Karamazov - Dosteovsky}. It's a good game. I like such games.

Genetics and predestination: What do you do when your genes are stacked against you? When brawn doesn't come to you naturally ? You can feel helpless for yourself. You can feel spite for the world that values such embellishments as puffy muscles and broad chests. Or you can put your best foot forward and with the humility that only real pride can afford, offer something else. Offer passion, love, care and good conversation.

On Stereotypes and generalizing : Not every Indian-Bengali-USA-residing-Coder-Single-Guy wants to take out a mortgage on a house in Seattle. There are those with a spark of adventure, a spirit of daring, anger in life and those who will be the first to take the initiative, pin down and kiss.

And, that's all I have to say about that.

My Run

Some readers might know me well enough to be aware that I like running. I've run two city marathons and completed one ultra trail challenge so far. Given that I blog about rather small things, it might seem somewhat strange that I have stayed away from blogging about my running. There's a lot to write about, no doubt. However, I felt hesitant whenever I tried to pen down something. I attribute this reluctance to the fact that running is a deeply personal experience for me. What happens in my head tends to stay in my head. Nevertheless, I'll try to shine a light on some.

What do I think of when I run ? I'll answer that by mentioning what I don't think of. I don't think about research, I don't think about buying an ipad, I don't think about bad relationships and I don't think about schedules or deadlines. in fact I don't think about a god damn thing. Thoughts that do enter my mind are something like, "thirsty - need water", "uphill - fuck", "car - careful", "come on one more mile". Though, it's mostly blankness punctuated by the sound of my feet and the rhythm of my breathing. There's a 10 feet wide bubble around me and that is my world. Time melts away, priorities disintegrate and facades collapse. And trail runs are even better. There's something primal, to be running past the trees and by the stream, crossing bridges and skirting gorges. If ever I have had doubts about existence, they dissipate. I feel more in touch with my true self whilst sucking on the sweet nectar of life.

Old man George

His name was George,
and his age was old.
His height was short,
and his head was bald.

He wore long pants,
shorts were not his style.
His shoes were polished,
leather bode him well.

He might have been black,
but he could have been white.
He might have been a crook,
yet he could have been a king.

He looked like a serious man,
he seemed very focused.
What was he doing there,
squatting on your garden lawn?

Knew this not anyone,
nor did anyone care.
Except the brown young man,
with the glint in his eye.

The sweat on his furrow,
dropped onto the thirsty earth.
While stubby gnarly fingers,
pulled at the stubborn weeds.

Slowly and painfully,
did George's hands move.
Slowly and painfully,
was I forced to watch.

Paralyzed did he stand,
the brown young man.
What was I to do,
the brown young man ?

Everyone Loves an Underdog Upset

The other day, I was browsing through a list of sports movies on netflix. Though each of the individual sports were different, there was something common about all of them. This nagging feeling made me desist. So I sat there staring at my screen, perplexed like Buridan's ass. I was about to make a cynical comment about our abundance of choice when I noticed something. Most of the movies had keywords like "Heart Warming, Unbelievable, Quest, Rise" etc. I tilted my head sideways, smirked and I knew I had a new blogpost coming.

Didn't you love the Count of Monte Cristo, V for Vendetta, Forrest Gump, Rocky Balboa and others in its ilk? Didn't you love it when the funny looking fat little man sang Opera? Well, didn't you ? I know you did. There's something primal in our instincts that makes us revel in joy when the common man, the unknown, the insignificant, the underdog stages an upset. Some of it is surely borne out of our empathy for the underdog, for most of us have felt that way. Sometimes, it is a chance to romanticize, imagining ourselves in the shoes of the underdog. Nothing, I tell you, nothing compares to the feeling of achieving goals that others said were out of you reach. Extraordinary feats by ordinary men, that's the stuff that legends are made off. A toast to the underdog..!

The Anger at Loss

What is that makes us angry at a profound loss?

Imagine that you love something or someone very deeply. You feel a sense of unbreakable attachment. Almost a sense of entitlement. An everlasting feeling. There are absolutely no doubts that it belongs to you. Nothing can shake that bond. And then suddenly out of the blue things go haywire. This was not supposed to happen to you. This was supposed to happen to someone else. Someone else's story. Not in this lifetime. You feel that this is just a bad dream and if you pinch yourself hard enough, you will snap out of this hallucination. But it doesn't. It lingers. This sick feeling in your gut. It creeps up your spine. You look outside the window. All you see a distant dreamy landscape, something that you have seen several times before yet looks alien. This is just a bad dream, you reassure yourself... Just a bad dream.

The grief has long passed. A void now takes its place. But the void is only ephemeral. It is being quickly replaced by an unstoppable feeling. A feeling that makes your muscles tighten. You grit your teeth. Your fist is clenched. A lump starts welling up in your throat. And before long you are overcome by an intense anger. This anger is pure and untamed. A reflection of the true animal that you are. Rationality has long left you. You bay for blood. A revenge that will set everything right. A vigilante justice that only you can serve. A vendetta not in vain...

Deadmau5

"The bass is so heavy my rubix cube fell off my desk and completed itsself, neighbors called the police and they got arrested, my windows broke and had to buy a mac, my cat barked, ʇxǝʇ ʎɯ oʇ sıɥʇ pıp doɹp ssɐq ǝɥʇ, I have to change my pants, made --- people miss the like button, mom walked in and I switched to porn, it became my neighbors favorite song, hitler got his gas bill, I pressed F13 for extra bass, my water turned into wine, I clicked 720p, it went B0:00M" - A highly liked comment on a deadmau5 youtube video.

We are Machines

"We are Machines" - This is a profound realization that I have gotten off late. To go into the moral and religious ramifications of this statement would be opening a can of worms, and that tends to attract a lot of flies. I am in no mood for fly-swatting. So not going into any controversy, I will talk about some of the practical aspects of living life as a machine. To appreciate the rest of this post, the reader will first need to agree with me that we are indeed machines. If this somehow seems implausible, I request you to suspend disbelief and agree with me for a short while.

By bringing up machines, I am not referring to Robots or any of those androidy things that science fiction movies would have you believe. But rather think of yourself as a rusty old steam engine. Yes, a steam engine. A good old steam engine with many moving parts. It's a good analogy. Just like a steam engine needs fuel and water, so do we. In many ways, we are exactly that, a steam engine. But never in their life would anyone consider themselves to be a machine. It somehow degrades this thing called life. It degrades this feeling of self. It makes all our emotions and all our hopes and dreams seem frivolous. It discounts our belief that we are somehow capable of much greater feats. But dear readers, since you have read this far, and you have suspended your disbelief so far, bear me a little longer...

So if we are indeed machines, why do we not feel like one? Why are we not made aware in every footstep and every breath that were are mere machines? The answer my friend is that we are too comfortable. Too cozy and too well fed. Every time you push yourself beyond your comfort zone, the machine creaks and groans, and you are Reminded ever so gently, that you are all but a machine. So the next time you go out of breath trying to climb the staircase, don't curse the elevator, but instead remember to smile. Smile with the knowledge that the machine is complaining.

P.S. I do not believe in a mind-body dichotomy.

Compassionate Pittsburghers

It's been a great weekend. The weather was just marvelous on Friday, rare occasions when one can sport a T-shirt and enjoy the outdoors. Saturday was nice too, I went out for a longish group run with the AID team, a well spent day. Sunday came and the weather was brilliant again. It would be absolute crime to stay indoors. Basu seemed up for doing something, Aaditya wanted to bike and I couldn't refuse. So the plan was made for Basu and I to go for a long walk. Aaditya would join us on the bike somewhere along the trail.

So Basu and I headed out on our long walk, a distance of around 10K. I had the trail mapped out on my head so I was acting as the default guide. We started from home, walked on the pavements, crossed a few roads, and entered the woods of Frick Park. The park was bare and austere in its beauty as the leaves had not yet returned. One could also make out the topology of the hills, which were otherwise obscured in the summer. It was very liberating to walk on the trails, and Basu headed off for a jog on sections of the trail. Slowly we started veering off the main trails and into less beaten tracks. The occasional jogger/ biker was much rarer to come by. My mind started drifting and I started thinking about how pleasantly surprised I had been to run into Prof Alan Black a few weeks back on these same trails. Really, this section was very desolate and one can feel the thick silence. Occasionally the tweet of a bird would be a welcome distraction.

Finally we reached the Monongahela river, climbed up to the waterfront bridge and started walking over to the other side. The sound of cars and trucks roaring past was in stark contrast to the silence of the trails we had just left behind. Aaditya joined us in the middle of the bridge and we walked over to the other side. We took the bus back from waterfront back to campus and Aaditya put his bike on the bus rack. From campus Aaditya biked back home while Basu and I took the escort. Sometime before we reached home, I got a call from Aaditya. "Help, I'm lying at the intersection of 5th and Shady and severely cramped". That couldn't be good. I promised I would be there in a few minutes. It was quite as he described, he was lying on the pavement with his bike and helmet on his head, unable to move his legs. Basu and I tried helping to get some life back into his legs and helping him stand up. Eventually he managed to get up and hobble back home. What was really nice and heart warming was that upto four cars stopped on this busy intersection, and people got off to ask if we needed any help. Yes, Pittsburghers may appear rough and loud, but they are surely nice at heart.

Clouds of darkness

What is the reason behind my reluctance in posting blogs ? It is certainly not because I am too busy to type a few lines every week. Nor is it because of a lack of things to say. It might be due to the reason that I am finding my thoughts to have been transformed into an increasingly dark nature. Some of these thoughts relate to god and to the human race. They are certainly not populist thoughts. They are not yet mature enough to be disseminated to others. I am sure there are others in my plight. Others who have been tormented much more than me. Many were driven to madness and others to depression. Am I in a dark place in my life ? Certainly not. I am more awake, aware and more lively than every before. At times, I feel this urge to pen down my thoughts and post it. But not yet, Not yet. My ideas are still embryonic. They need reinforcement from the great thinkers of the past. For which I am reading like never before. My ideas need an outlet for mass dissemination, for which I will create an agent and a story. The blog posts will return, but not yet.

A cold and snowy day

The weather forecast for today said snow showers with gusty winds. A perfect setting stage for christmas eve. A time to spend time at home with friends and family, drinking wine and having sumptuous dinners. Certainly not the time to venture outside and go for a run. That's exactly what I did.

Just a few days back, I watched a movie called Ultramarathon Marathon Man : Endurance 50. It was about a crazy guy called Dean Karnazes who vowed to run 50 marathons in 50 states in 50 consecutive days and he did it. He is a very humble and down to earth guy who just loves running really really long. He also happens to be my personal hero. He wrote a book called Ultramarathon man : Confessions of an all night runner. Being a big fan of his I decided that I needed to get this book. And what better way than to run to the book store and get it.

On a whim I put on my running shoes. Donned my winter running gear and off I went. I ran the 6 miles from university to the Barnes and Noble store in the waterfront. It was cold and snowy, and there were many moments when I wondered what the hell was I doing. The part where I ran on the bridge connecting homestead over the river was splendid. I was running with the wind , so the snow flakes seemed still, suspended in the air. I finally got to the store, my face flushed with the cold. I walked up to the store lady and asked her about the book. There was just one copy left. I felt like I had totally earned this book and paid homage in my own little way to the great man that is Dean Karnazes.

I want to run

I want to run. Run like Forrest. I mean to really really keep running. Run far far away. At first there will be paved roads in the concrete jungle. Towering edifices of man's creations will surround me. Then there will come the ghettos, a reminder of the ills that plague society. I will run nimbly avoiding the feces. Then there will come the rich villas, with the manicured lawns. I will swiftly run past the pretty poodles and their prettier masters. Then there will come the freeways, those 6 lane conduits to far far away. I will jump over the barrier onto bylanes and I will run, run into the fields. Then there will come cattle and there will come streams. I will run past them as they mulch and gurgle away. Then there will come the railroad , cutting across the land. I will run along the tracks as the train thunders past. Then there will come the forest, a paradise of green. I will run like a mohawk and follow the wolves. Then there will come the mountains, there will come the ice. I will be chilled to the bone and my legs will hurt. But I will run, run as far as I can, with the eagle watching over me. Then there will come loneliness, a strange new friend. One who is always there but never by your side. And I will run , run into the desert. My throat will be parched and my tongue will be dry. The rattlesnakes and the scorpions will watch as I run past them. Finally, there will come a cliff. A cliff overlooking a vast ocean. I will stretch out my arms and in a perfect 10.0 jump, I will dive into the ocean. I will fall through the sky, and the wind will rush past my ears. Then there will be a splash, and I will dive deep deep under. It will be worth it, certainly it will.

Fireflies

What an amazing sight...! Tiny little flash bulbs going off every now and then. Trees decorated with little lights. Almost seemed like christmas is here. There's something about these bugs that brings so much joy. It makes me feel like a kid again. Reminds of a Durga Puja that I spent in Patna once. I want to run and catch these things. Collect a jar full of these flashing bugs. Heck, it even reminded me of the glowworm in James and the Giant peach.The one that became the torch of lady liberty and saved the city of its electric bills.

In the future everyone will be famous for 15 minutes

I live in the city of Pittsburgh. Incidentally this is where Andy Warhol was born. The city has a museum in his honor. A visit to this museum was in my list of things to do for a long time. I made it happen today. A bit of wikishagging and some fundae from my officemate later I felt equipped enough to take on a day of modern art. Not just any modern art, but Pop art of Americana. The essential principle of pop-art is to take the everyday banal object and elevate it to the status of art. Coke bottles, soup cans, carton boxes, anything can become art. Thus like pop-music, anybody can appreciate pop-art. This is quite an empowering concept. Art traditionally belongs to the bigwigs, the connoisseurs. The man on main street can make no claim about art. But hey, pop art was this radical commie concept. Everyone now wielded the wand of making art. Andy Warhol in a sense was a revolutionary.

One of the famous things that he said was that "In the future everyone will be famous for 15 minutes". Bravo.

The importance of good health

Health really is wealth. I mean literally. Those who have had the fortune of having to go through the US healthcare system will know what I am talking about. Even back home in India things are not so much different. The quality of medical care seems to be rapidly segregating into those who can afford big checks and those who can't. So yes, health is wealth. It's a good maxim to remember.

Most of my friends and those of my age suffer from arrogance. Arrogance of the youth. We believe that nothing can stop of us. We are young, life is good and everything is hunky dory. Smoking, drinking and eating junk does not affect us. How can it ? after all we are young. Only those weird uncle types with balding hair and flabby skin are the ones who have all these problems. so let's make merry while it lasts. After all we are young.

To your good health..!

It dudnt matter

One of the major headaches in statistical theory is what to do if your sample is too small. Really statistics is all about lots of numbers. In essence, statistics is damn good at predicting what the herd would do but extremely inaccurate when it comes to the individual.

So here is a thought for all self respecting flocks out there. Please do not burden your opinions on others, or think that the world hinges around your very existence,or for that matter whether your twitter message says if you pooped today or not. It dudnt matter..! It dudnt matter if you eat organic or if you buy cosmetics that haven't been tested on animals. It dudnt matter if you chose Mac over PC, it dudnt matter. Yes, it dudnt. There are far greater forces in motion in this world, that will render your say absolutely worthless.

Yes, stop wasting time, feeling too important.

A warmer day

As the snow melts around me, I feel a sense of loss. Like something beautiful, something pristine, is leaving this world. But somewhere at the back of my mind,I know that the cycle will repeat and the snow will all come back. I find that this devastating beauty is exceeded only by its harshness .Somehow, it makes the human spirit stronger, firmer and more willing. In Neitzsche like thinking, the winter acts like a bridge between and 'man' and 'ubermansch'. But there is no guarantee in this and one can very easily become lazy and fearful of the cold, refusing to stray out of the heated interiors. It is like a big ball on the very tip of a hill. It can go either way, to ubermansch or to sloth. It just needs a small push.

P.S. I dont know why I wrote this. The cold is getting to me.

The Ugly side

There is an ugly side to everything. It is the eternal balance of life. Good must be balanced by evil. Light by Darkness. Kindness by cruely. Love by hate. It's a very old idea , this balance one. The Zoroastrians liked it, so did the Tai Chi masters. It's not hard to find the ugly side. Everything has an ugly side. Look beyond the shiny silver wrapper and you will see the ugly side. The tastiest dish has an ugly side, the perfect hobby has an ugly side, the perfect relationship has an ugly side. Yes the clown cries too. Don't be so smug, you have an ugly side too. Don't need to look too far.

Crunchy

White washed surroundings. Cold air. Clear blue skies. Christmas decorations. Slushy road. White dusted cars. Whitened tree branches. People minding own business. Less people. Me walking to supermarket. Crunch crunch. Sound under my bootheels. Crunch crunch. Very bloggable. Crunch crunch. Crunch crunch......

White Dust

A late night movie was the culprit for me waking up pretty late this morning. I was feeling a bit guilty for having overstayed my visit to the bed. As I glanced outside the window, a strange sight awaited me. It looked as if there were lots of really big white dust particles flying around. Like what I would see if I were walking through a pillow making factory in full operation. For a second my brain became ultimately confused. You know, like when you see something for the first time in your life, you tend to relate it to something you have already seen in the past. As I ambled towards the window pretty excited, the garden outside that used to be green was covered with the same white dust. The rooftops were white. The white dust had settled on the cars outside. Truly, my first snowfall was delightfully confusing.

Opinionated people are happier

Why are opinionated people happier ?

please tell me.
Seeking your comments.