A Chip On The Brain

The alarm goes off at 6 am. You extend a sleepy arm and hit the snooze button and lapse back into sleep. Sleep is especially delicious after that. 'Just five minutes', you tell yourself. The next thing you know, you are late for work. This is a routine familiar to many of us. But now you can break it, thanks to Pavlok, the tough new personal coach which promises to help you change your habits. With this around your wrist, you had better quickly jump out of bed when the alarm goes off. If you do not, be prepared to receive a jolt of electric shock. Pavlok promises to help you shake off negative habits and whip you into shape. The threat of corporal punishment and public shame (Pavlok will expose your transgressions in social media) are guaranteed to transform you. If not, I wonder what will.

If you need Pavlok to keep you from becoming lazy, you might not want to indulge in Google Glass. With Google glass, one does not even have to pick up the phone and 'thumb' through the screen. All one has to do is squint obliquely, perhaps looking a little demented, and one can read the latest tweet or email or message. I am sure the next version will enable the user to look straight into the glass. Then someone could look at you and yet not be looking at you. And if that person starts laughing suddenly, it may have nothing to do with you. He or she is probably just watching something on the internet. But I am really not sure why we need this gadget. Watch Daily Show - Google Glass where some users try to explain the utility of the glass to hilarious effect.

Wearable Tech devices or 'Tech-Jewelry' as I would like to call them, are commonplace now. When blue tooth devices first appeared, it took us a while to get used to seeing people walking about with the little light glowing on their earpieces, looking a little futuristic. But now we hardly bat an eyelid when we see people talking to thin air. They are also free to gesticulate and many do which makes for some comic relief.

Perhaps we have become so indolent, not only physically but mentally too that we have accepted we are incapable of making simple decisions. There is something disturbing about the idea that we need gadgets to program our life, to get us to exercise, to eat healthy, to remind us to drink water, etc. etc. Nothing illustrates this better than Vessyl. You can think of it as the Holy Grail of nifty devices. This genius cup can tell you what you have poured into it. Yes, that's right. You pour coffee into it and in a second, it will display that fact back to you. It will keep tabs on how much you consume in fluids and calories from them. This segment from the Colbert Report sums it up beautifully.

It seems to me that we have a reached a certain crossroads in our evolution. I have often wondered if human beings were evolving what the next stage would be. I would not care to make a prediction but there is perhaps a clue in the tech-jewelry that we are now seeing. From Google Glass to Pavlok - there is a trend that is pushing technology closer and closer to our bodies. And people seem all too eager to embrace all this. Evidently, they are convinced that they need to program their daily lives using technology. In fact, many of the pre-launch offers for new devices are snapped up quickly.

For the longest time we have been trying to create intelligent robots. But it appears that it is easier to program intelligent beings into robots than the other way around.

Even as tech-jewelry is gaining in popularity, another frontier has opened up - Tech Implants. I guess implants are just the next logical step. While there are many applications for such devices, we may be headed towards a brave new world where our brains are connected to chips that enhance our capabilities in some fashion. Imagine accessing the worldwide web without wires and communicating using just our thoughts. We can listen to music and watch movies entirely inside our heads. But there is also the real possibility of our brains being hacked and manipulated. Will others be able to read our thoughts then? I don't think I want to be online in such a literal sense! I shudder at the possibility but the way people are willing to share their personal life on social media, it is probably not worth the hacker's effort.

I do think many will draw the line at being hacked by others. But there are plenty of people willing to hack into their own bodies to make them 'optimal'. Biohacking is the latest trend. Wikipedia defines it as follows: "Biohacking is the practice of engaging biology with the hacker ethic. Biohacking encompasses a wide spectrum of practices and movements ranging from "Grinders" who design and install do-it-yourself body-enhancements such as magnetic implants to do-it-yourself biologists who conduct at-home gene sequencing". I don't know about you, but to me, this is a scary prospect. I tend to think that the human body has been designed to be self-reliant. There are many processes inside that are autonomous but usually these are best left alone. I would worry that attempts to modify one function may have unintended consequences elsewhere just like prescription drugs which carry the risk of dangerous side effects. Sometimes the remedy seems worse than the disease itself.

Where will all this take us? If everyone gets an implant, can I afford to remain unhacked? Will I be able to distinguish those with implants from others? Will such technology remove the essential 'human' quality in us? If the past is any guide, a new technology usually leads the full analysis of its potential impact. But if you don't know what to make of all these new developments, relax. I am sure you can always get a chip implanted on your brain which will tell you what to think. And then you can sing with Pink Floyd (Brain Damage - Dark Side of The Moon): "There's someone in my head but it's not me" and mean it literally.

Concert Disconcert

It was a beautiful summer evening. A crowd had gathered at the park to listen to the orchestra. The Philadelphia Orchestra was performing with a good number of serious patrons seated under the massive canopy of the Mann Center. Outside the canopy, it was a different story. The atmosphere resembled a picnic with people spread out with blankets and food. Some, like me, had obtained free passes to the concert which allowed them to attend sitting in the lawn. This was my first time attending a western classical music performance. The conductor was the famous Eugene Ormandy.

I knew nothing about western classical music. It seemed that I was surrounded by people who too knew little about it. It was just a great way for them to enjoy an evening in the park. The more serious audience sitting inside the sheltered area was no doubt better informed and looking forward to the event.

I was impressed with the formal attire of the orchestra and their incredible discipline and control. They have to be really alert to not miss their cues, I thought. I marvelled at the composer who was able to write the phrases for the different sections - strings, woodwind, brass and so on, and for such a large number of performers and the grand vision it took to do that. The conductor was masterful in guiding the orchestra, waving his baton like a magical wand. At one precise moment, I saw the drummer crashing the cymbals and then wait for the next such moment. When the music ended with a crescendo at one point, the audience in the peanut gallery (which included me) broke into applause. The conductor turned around, bowed, and said, 'Thank you. I hope you will find the remaining movements equally enjoyable'. I realized that we had applauded at the wrong time!

I have not repeated that mistake since mainly because I have not attended western classical concerts. While I do enjoy certain pieces, I do not have enough understanding and appreciation to sit through a full concert. I have been to a few rock concerts which of course are the very antithesis of a classical concert. People can and do sing along and dance wildly and generally make quite a racket often drowning out the music which itself is amplified to uncomfortable decibel levels. I decided after a couple of such experiences that the music is better heard on a CD player at home.

I do attend carnatic music performances regularly and enjoy them thoroughly. The atmosphere at these events is decidedly less formal than at western classical concerts. Here the audience lights are usually not turned off. I am told that carnatic performers like to be able to see the audience when they are on stage, appreciating the opportunity to interact with them. I can understand why since there is considerable improvisation. But this leads to some unintended consequences.

I don't think this happens in India, but in the US, many of the patrons bring their children along. Perhaps they are learning music themselves and can sometimes be seen making notes. Or the parents just want them to be exposed to Indian music. Many are generally busy with their smartphones. Some of the adults too seem to be doing the same thing. I have even seen some taking care of business on their laptops. If you have other things to do, why bother coming?

The serious listeners tend to sit in the front rows so that they can avoid distractions. People may be walking in out in the back frequently. There are also those engaged in intense private conversations. For some reason, they assume that their voices cannot be heard by the rest of the crowd. It is particularly annoying because everyone can hear them perfectly just at those times when the artiste is in the middle of delicate phrases. Younger children get restive and start fussing, crying, or running about. Still others are doing their homework which would be fine except that their parents get busy helping them with that. You can also see some young ones stretched out on the seats sleeping. Meanwhile, the lights shine on unconcernedly.

I do admire the artistes who seem immune to all the tamasha that is going on in the hall. How inspired would the musician feel seeing people engaged in all sorts of activities? I suppose that they focus on the serious listeners. But among these folks too, there are one or two that are overenthusiastic and get carried away. You may even find them trying to hum along. Others get very loud keeping time (talam) gesticulating with their hands raised to boot. In one concert, the mridangam player got so distracted by this that he had to stop and say, 'I am glad to see that you are keeping talam, but please do so quietly'.

Perhaps it is time to consider turning the lights off. But then I am afraid that the glow of the smartphones will take over creating a sort of disco effect. Sigh! I guess you can't win 'em all.

Picture: https://www.philorch.org/sites/default/files/styles/blog_poster_preview/public/blog/poster/Vail(ChrisLee).jpg?itok=EvQpLzna

Service with A Smile - Grin and Bear it!

I punched in the customer service number on the phone dial and waited. I was calling the bank for help after getting stuck while trying to transfer funds online. The call was answered by an automated response system with a smooth, rather smug-sounding voice that said, 'Welcome to ABC bank's telephone banking'. After navigating the various options, I finally got to a telephone banking representative.

'Thank you for calling ABC bank. How may I help you?'. 'Hi, I am trying to make a fund transfer, but it seems that I require a different kind of debit card now'. 'I can help you with that, sir. Please give me your name'. It turned out that the bank had switched to the new card format recently but was going about making the transition in a strange way. 'So I need a new card that has these set of numbers on the back to transfer funds?'. 'Yes, sir'. 'And unless I order it, the bank will not send one to me'. 'That's correct.' 'How come I did not get a notification about this?'. 'Sir, a running display message was put up on our website for a month'. 'But it is no longer there'. 'That's right'. 'Well, then, I guess I should order a new card'. 'Yes. I can order that for you, sir. Please note that there will be an annual fee for this card'.

I had to admire the bank's audacity. Consider this. The bank decided to change the card format, slap on a new fee, but did not bother informing customers about it. At the same time, the customers needed the new card to transact online. So much for customer service. But the story did not end there.

A week later, I received the card with a note saying that the PIN will be mailed separately and that I would receive it within thirty days. I could go online, it said further, and generate a PIN if I wanted. So I dutifully logged into my account and tried to generate one only to find out that online PIN generation had been disabled. Once again I called customer service and after the initial formalities, endured the following exchange.

'I am unable to generate a PIN online'. 'I can certainly help you with that, sir', assured the customer service agent. 'First, I must activate your card and then you should be able to use it online'. 'Great, thanks'. I thought I was home clear, but he was only getting started.  'I need to do some verification for that, sir. Can you tell me the joint account holder's name?'. Thus started a series of questions to verify my identity. 'Please tell me the last four digits of the card' and so on. 'You want my customer id? Is it the same as the login name?' 'Oh, it is not? Where would I find it?' 'The cheque book? Well I have to get it. Please hold on'. By now, I had pulled out the brief case where I kept all important documents. I started taking things out trying to find the various pieces of information he demanded, laying them out on the bed. Finally he asked for my passport number. 'Which passport number?', I asked. 'The one you gave us when you opened the account'. That was eight years ago! Another feverish search through my stash of old stuff and luckily I found the said passport.

After all this, he told me that he had activated the card and I could use it right away after generating the password online. He also asserted that I did not really need the PIN to make fund transfers. The new numbers on the back of the card were enough. I thanked him and tried my luck again. First, I tried to generate the PIN. Picture my surprise when I got the same error as before! But I was nothing if not perseverant. I then attempted to make a transfer only to be told that grid authentication had been disabled. I called the bank once again. I was informed that the activation may take a couple of hours to be posted and so I waited for some time and tried but to no avail. I had to give up then as I did not have the energy to go through another call to the help desk. I swept all the old documents and stuff back into the brief case and put it aside. I had a vaguely uncomfortable thought that I should have taken the time to sort the documents out and organize them but I was too exhausted from the calls.

After a week, I received the PIN from the bank as promised. Hoping that things would now be alright, I gave it another go. But the web page obstinately stuck to its tune. I had no choice but to call the help desk again. And you know what that meant. This time I was told that the card was in blocked status. To unblock it, the agent told me to authenticate myself first by entering the card number and the PIN I had received. However, that was apparently not enough. Once again I found myself answering the same set of questions as the last time. Out came the brief case again and I went through fishing for this or that document to play Twenty Questions. I now wished I had organized all that stuff. After the rigorous inquisition, the card was unblocked. I made sure I had the agent online while I tried the transfer and that it worked. Success at last. Phew!

At this point, my wife walked in and found all the stuff on the bed with me looking dishevelled and tired. 'What happened? Did you lose something?', she asked. 'Only my mind', I replied.
                                                      

I Tweet, Therefore I Am

People are never without their phones these days and they are ready to answer a call at anytime. No activity is spared - driving, jogging, eating, and even the toilet. You would think that nature's call would take precedence, but, no. I have actually known people who have lost their phones in the bathroom. In fact, I can readily imagine the following.

'Hey', says the person next to me. I am startled. There are many perfectly good places for exchanging pleasantries with strangers, but a public toilet is not one of them. Thankfully, he is not addressing me. He is speaking to someone on his cell phone which he holds balanced between his ear and his shoulder, a tricky operation at best even under normal circumstances. Sure enough, all it takes is the loud noise of flushing in one of the stalls and he shakes his head ever so little in reaction. The phone falls from its precarious perch, right into, you guessed it, the urinal. I depart the scene quickly stifling a laugh to avoid rubbing salt on his wound.

Now some of you are no doubt shaking your heads in disbelief. 'That can never happen. Who does not have bluetooth these days?', you ask. But my point pertains to a larger question. How did the phone become an extension of the human being? We find it irresistible to check the message as soon as the phone chimes. After all, what good is instant messaging if we don't? With all the means of instant communication, we are far more interruptible now than ever before. This also makes it impossible to leave work behind when we leave the office. As long as you are tied to the cell phone, 'you can run, but you can't hide'.

A modern day Descartes may well exclaim, 'I tweet, therefore I am'. Some have actually embraced this idea. Whether or not  their hearts are beating is measured by how often they are 'tweeting'. So to re-affirm their continued existence, they are constantly tweeting. And, the larger the number of followers one has, the more validated one's existence is.

I guess celebrities and politicians have a particular need to remain in the public eye, but some of them are also afflicted with the 'foot-in-the-mouth' disease. Twitter has been the bane of a few of them. They will be wise to remember the old saying 'Look before you leap' or should I say, 'Think before you tweet'? Instead, it is 'Tweet now, retract later'. Apart from their trigger-happy tweets that give offense to some group or other every now and then, there is the indiscreet message or compromising picture that is somehow leaked, creating a media storm.

The constant online chatter that goes on may make one believe that people are communicating more nowadays. I think this is true in a general sense. If you must depend on face-to-face meeting, a phone call, or a letter to get in touch with others, you can only reach so many people whereas with a single tweet you could reach thousands. Yet I wonder how much real communication goes on in these online networks. It is estimated that more than 90% of all email is spam. And quite a lot of tweets and emails are merely forwarding something one received. The same messages keep circulating the net.  We can say a lot of things to a lot of people but still convey very little. As the old song goes, 'Everybody's talkin' at me, I don't hear a word they're saying'.

Technology makes it possible to feel connected at all times and places. Being addicted to this technology, we find it quite difficult to unplug and just be with ourselves. Only the most determined among us may be able to find some 'alone' time (I am sure there will be an app for that soon). That is assuming that people want to be alone. Perhaps, they actually dread that, and they like to feel they have company, even if it is virtual. But solitude is truly rewarding. I try to find some time every day to be by myself. I like to lounge in my backyard early in the morning or at dusk. Dusk is a particularly tranquil time as the entire world seems to become quiescent. The other day, just after sunset, I sat lazily watching the clearest of skies become a perfect bubble. While it was still too bright for stars to be seen, the thin crescent moon looked like a little notch in the otherwise flawless fabric of the sky. I just gazed at the sky and felt rejuvenated in the peace that ensued.

Solitude is necessary for our minds to reflect and to recharge. The mind turns quite passive with the constant flood of information that bombards us and needs the break to bounce back. Many creative pursuits require the mind to be dynamic and focussed, without disturbance. We get to connect with our inner selves when we are alone. It is an opportunity to take a look at ourselves and perhaps gain some new insight, or self-awareness; to become more comfortable with who we are. I believe this will make us more self-sufficient in the long run. Solitude, in short, is good for the soul.

"Learn to be happy alone. If you do not enjoy your own company, why inflict it on others" - Swami Chinmayananda

Sleepless on Steel Wheels

I got into the air-conditioned sleeper carriage at Bangalore station, expecting the overnight journey to be a comfortable one. The attendant brought sheets, a pillow and a blanket. Once the train pulled away from the station, I climbed into the upper berth and spread the bed sheet on it. After the conductor walked through the coach and checked tickets, I thought it would be a peaceful ride. As I got under the blanket, I was struck by how heavy the blanket was. It felt like the lead shield they make you wear when taking x-rays to protect parts of the body not being x-rayed. It was quite an effort to even turn once you were inside it. I suppose it prevents people from falling off the narrow berth!

This heavy, rough woollen blanket is quite in keeping with the style of the Indian Railways. The level of technology that goes in to the finishing of the carriage is somewhat crude. The ceiling looked like it had been painted by hand. The fluorescent lighting, the fans, etc. presented a tired look in tune with the blue-grey vinyl seats, with their hand-stitched seams. The fittings, the coat hooks, etc. were clunky and had sharp or hard edges. If you have tried to use the reclining mechanism on the chair cars, you would have noticed how clumsy, resistant and noisy that thing is. The faucets in the bathroom require an iron fist to operate. I could go on, but back to my present journey.

The rocking motion of the train started to make me drowsy and I expected to fall asleep soon. But unfortunately, that was not to be. The trick with sleeping on trains is to beat the other passengers to it because you never know how many of them are going to be snoring. Tonight, I was beaten by several others who were 'soundly' asleep before I could even count ten sheep. I could hear at least three distinct snores from the sonorous sleepers around me. As you have doubtless experienced, once your attention is drawn to snores, you cannot ignore them. After every note, your wait for the next one and the next one and so on. I was even trying to figure out if there was a rhythmic pattern in the stentorian rasps from my co-passengers. The a/c coach provided considerable insulation from the train noise and that only made it worse. As I struggled to find sleep, my mind went back to the time when we did not have the a/c coach and we travelled the regular sleeper.

In the a/c car, you are insulated not only from the sound of the train while it is in motion, but also from sights and sounds of the station when the train stops. Vendors do not come to the window selling tea and snacks. The hectic activity outside looks like a silent movie. The atmosphere in the sleeper coach was vastly different from the quiet of the a/c coach. You were one with the scenery, whether moving or stationary. When the train stopped, you were greeted by the flurry of passengers getting in and out and vendors jockeying for spots near the window. It was quite a challenge to stay asleep, especially since the fans slowed down when the train stopped. You see, the voltage in the compartment fluctuated with the speed of the train. Lights burned brighter and fans got louder and faster when the train picked up speed. And when the train stopped in the middle of the night and the fans slowed to a crawling speed, you were greeted by the snore chorus in the ensuing quiet.

None of these bothered me when I was little. I would look forward to any trip by train with great excitement. From the moment you entered the station, everything was  a veritable feast to your senses - the book stand,  the food carts, fruit-sellers, coffee/tea vendors, uniformed porters with gravity-defying loads of suitcases on their heads towering over the crowd, and the general bustle on the platform. Every moment of the journey was savoured. Sitting by the window you could imagine that you were standing still while the scenery unfolded in a moving picture. As the train sped past the city, the rural landscape emerged offering wonderful vistas. You could watch the pink sky grow dark, turning distant trees into silhouettes, and see the star-studded sky unimpeded by city lights, or wake up in the cool air of the morning and enjoy a sunrise over verdant fields. Not even the occasional mishap of getting ash (steam engines ruled the day in my youth) in one's eye could dampen the enthusiasm.

I used to travel the Bombay-Madras Mail regularly when I worked in Bombay many years ago. This marathon journey which took about thirty hours and spanned two nights, was quite the endurance test. The distance was about 1300 kilometers or 800 miles and so the pace was leisurely, some would say, slow enough to try your patience. There were about two dozen scheduled stops on the way and some were quite long. The train used to stop for more than thirty minutes at Guntakkal, enough time to go into the waiting hall and take a shower there in the bathroom! I know, because I have actually done it. There are other stations which, I believe, were created solely as a service point for passing trains.

Seasoned travellers come to know the route very well. You find out that there were special things you could get in certain places. You get to know where to buy breakfast or lunch. I remember the gentleman who told me to ignore the vendors proffering tea at the train and took me over the footbridge to the canteen that he claimed had the best tea in Guntakkal station, in fact, in all of south central railway according to him. If you were lucky, you had a Gujarati family for company for they always carried lots of food and loved to share the same with you and even invited you to join their card games.

The train was like a lifeline to some folks. The local vendors would often bring their seasonal produce to sell on the train - a quickly sliced cucumber or tomato salad, peanuts, fruits and the like. They would board the train with their wares, go through a few coaches making sales and then get off a few stations later to wait for a train that would take them back. This was their livelihood. There were others who did not have anything to sell, but would bring a broom, clean the compartment (littered with peanut shells and other debris after the vendors had been through) and then ask for some money. Obviously, they did not want to beg and felt that they could provide a (much needed) service to the passengers. The passengers did not usually mind the unsolicited service, although only a few paid for it. The Travelling Ticket Examiners (TTE's) that rode the trains did not seem to mind them either. Talking of TTE's, I used to feel a little sorry for them. A lifetime of riding these trains is quite taxing in itself, but they had to wear a tie and a coat as part of their uniform on top of that. If I remember right, the shirt and the trousers were white, perfect for the dusty ride.

As one grows old, the magic of trains mostly goes away, but even now I enjoy looking out of the window from a moving train. If life is a journey, I would like it to be train ride. The destination is here and now. Life is just the passing scenery outside.

I must have fallen asleep sometime during this reverie despite the snores around me for the next thing I knew, I was being woken up by the attendant announcing that we were approaching Chennai Central. I got down from the berth and prepared to leave the train and face the next ordeal, the Auto Standoff, of which I have already told you everything.

Lost Letters

"It is a lovely language, but it takes a very long time saying anything in it, because we do not say anything in it, unless it is worth taking a long time to say, and to listen to." (Treebeard, From The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers by JRR Tolkien)

I love the sentiment expressed by Treebeard. If one has something worthwhile to say, one should take the time to say it well. And those hearing it should take the time to absorb it. In the age of instant messaging and Twitter, this probably sounds incongruous. I mean, even if one says something halfway profound, others may instantly 'like', forward, or 're-tweet' it. It will reach thousands, may go viral and so on. A few may truly appreciate it. But it will certainly be replaced by the next soundbite that comes along and forgotten the next day. So why bother spending time on it?

It is hard to believe that a mere twenty-five years ago, we kept in touch through hand-written letters. Phone calls used to be expensive, often requiring operator assistance, and email was unknown. Letters were the primary means of long distance communication. With letters, we had to wait for days to receive a reply. The waiting heightened the sense of excitement and anticipation and made the actual arrival of the response more satisfying. As you read the letter, you imagined the writer's voice speaking the words. A simple description of the kitchen garden producing tomatoes painted a vivid picture in your mind. You filled in the gaps in the news from that side, because you knew how the uncle in question would have reacted to it.

Taking the time to write a letter does not necessarily mean a lot of pages. In fact, often we had limited space as in an aerogramme or an inland letter. How to convey all the news and other stories of interest within that was a challenge that required some serious application of mind. In addition, a letter cannot read like an essay. It has to sound conversational. It needs to convey information, but communicate at a very personal level. The stories may be newsworthy only to the sender and the receiver, but some letters become public documents. While letters by famous people have been published as books, I doubt if emails will be cherished in this manner. Imagine a book titled, 'Barack Obama - Collected Emails'!

It was not just letters from friends and family. There were also others offering admission or employment to anxious students or job applicants. And then there were the money orders delivering cash at your door step. Talk about convenience! In the villages, the postman often played a role in the actual communication beyond merely being the carrier to the many who could not read or write. He was a virtual member in their families! He would read the letters to the recipients and would also transcribe their replies. You have to marvel at the level of trust between the postman and the villagers. The postman was probably privy to many of their personal details. But then, there were few secrets in the village.

Receiving a letter from a foreign country was especially exciting what with the colourful stamps, postmarks, and various stickers - 'By Airmail', 'Par Avion', etc. that were affixed on them. It was airmail then, but the same thing is called 'snail mail' now. Since you wrote only once in a while, there was much to say. The occasional mix-up in the mail provided some excitement as well. One of my letters to India was sent to Indonesia by mistake and then made it to its correct destination a couple of weeks later with cool markings from different countries received from the long journey.

It is little wonder then that the arrival of the postman used to be awaited with much excitement. Nowadays, I cannot say that I anticipate the postman's daily arrival with such eagerness. In fact, I sort of dread it, for I know that almost all of the mail today consists of marketing flyers, offers for credit and so on; in short, junk mail. I thought I could just throw it in the trash, but a friend warned me of 'dumpster divers' who manage to retrieve sensitive information and use unsolicited credit card offers to open accounts with stolen identities. I stopped throwing junk mail away after that. But this has resulted in a new problem. I am now in danger of being buried in junk mail.

With the scare of identity theft, I have been collecting mail offers and now must find a way to dispose off them. I have bank statements dating back a few years. I bought a shredder and started to shred them, however, the accumulated backlog of several years made this a daunting task and almost impossible to get ahead of the flood. I have now changed all my account settings to stop receiving paper statements, but unsolicited junk with scary potential to be misused continues to pile up. I have to take boxes of old junk mail to a nearby facility for shredding.

Today's technology has indeed been a blessing. At the same time, I wonder if we tend to consider things that come easily as not very valuable. A quick email or message deserves a quick reply, no more. The flip side is that any delay in acknowledging the missive creates the impression of indifference or neglect. It can even lead to needless worrying over the welfare of the other person.

I suppose we must accept that as with everything else, change is a constant. But I do miss the hand-written letters. The physical act of putting pen to paper has a level of involvement that cannot be matched by today's instant communication. The fact that the letter is actually transferred to its destination, travelling hundreds of miles, I think, enhances its value. I see the hand-written letter as the equivalent of Old Entish described by Treebeard above, in today's world.

Perhaps, I could keep writing letters by hand just for the sake of it. And sing with the Moody Blues, "Letters I've written, never meaning to send".

A Seat In The Sky

I pressed the little button on the armrest and pushed back on the seat, but nothing happened. Something seemed to be wrong with the reclining mechanism. I checked to see if I was sitting in the exit row, but I was not. In fact, the person sitting next to me had the seat reclined. The lady sitting in the third seat, however could not lean back either. It appeared that this plane had some seats which did not recline for some reason. I wondered if there was an extra charge for the added comfort of being able to lean back.

Airline companies have been making money off little things for several years now. Since almost everyone travels with bags, they started to charge for bags first. No more free allowance for baggage. Then they decided that they did not have the obligation to feed the passengers without charging for it separately. Perhaps you are not hungry and just want to doze off. Good luck, because they no longer make blankets or pillows available. Of course you can bring your own pillow and blanket but they will use up space in your carry-on bag thus forcing you to check in a bag for which you will pay.

Charging for bags has actually been fine tuned. The cost goes up as you get closer to the date and time of departure. Here Spirit airlines appears to be a pioneer of sorts. Spirit is probably the only airline (so far) that charges for carry-on bags too. They tell us that you 'never pay for someone else’s “free” bags'. I guess that should make us feel good. But that only means you are going to pay for your bag. After all, who travels with no bags (if you do, you will probably be flagged as a potential security risk)? And, 'If you know you’re going to need a checked bag or carry-on, buy it early and online to save major moola. It costs time and resources to process at the airport, which means it costs you more money', says Spirit. But I don't understand why it costs more to 'buy checked bags' at the time of online check-in than when booking. Does the computer require an operator for online check-in? Or do bags check themselves in if paid for early?

The fundamental thing a ticket must provide is of course a seat. But all seats are not equal so airlines have become creative with add-on charges. If you want legroom or a wider seat, it will cost you more, sometimes an arm and a leg. If you want a reclining seat, that may be extra too, but beware, pads are not supplied to protect you if the person in front leans back and brings the back of the seat crashing down on your knees. You find the rows of seats too close to each other? Well, that's how you get those low fares. I must say that Spirit is quite upfront about this. Their web site informs us, "We’re a cozy airline. We add extra seats to our planes so we can fly with more people. This lowers ticket prices for everyone, just like a carpool".  You can get really close to your fellow passengers in this cozy cabin! It is all very noble since they just want to save you money. But you never knew saving money could be so painful, did you? 

The only thing expanding faster than the profits airlines make out of these extras is the waistlines of passengers patronizing them. It is only natural then that the airlines have started to make overweight travellers pay more. Even if they don't, if one is a bit too well-rounded, the seats with their reduced pitch and width may be punishment enough (although they punish those sitting next to them too). Additionally, while sitting on the seat that fits a little too snugly, one may also be motivated to lose weight. So the airline can claim that it is promoting good health too.

The worst seat and therefore the most uncomfortable flight that I have experienced was with Cathay Pacific when they introduced the so called 'clam shell seats'. It is not a coincidence that the phrase includes the word 'hell'. At least, you cannot accuse them of false advertising. The seat was actually in two parts. One that was fixed and one that slid forward when you tried to recline. It was bizarre and disorienting - the seat bottom slid forward pulling my body along, but my head remained resting on the top of the seat. This alone was enough to do a number on my back. To make things worse, the seat had no cushion and was hard as (s)hell. Half an hour on this seat and my bony backside started hurting. But that was not all. This moving seat necessitated the additional safety of an airbag. The genius who had come up with the new seat decided to attach  it to the seat belt which made it a thick cylinder weighing half a kilogram. Imagine carrying that in your lap for a 14-hour journey across the Pacific. After a few hours on this seat, I would have gladly exchanged it for the dentist's chair, drill and all!

Given how difficult it is to get comfortable on an airplane seat, I was surprised to find that there are some who actually would be happy if seats did not recline at all. I can understand and do sympathize with big or tall people wanting that, given the limited width and pitch. But there are others who would rather work on their laptops and a reclining seat in front interferes with that. They even complain that those who push back their seats are inconsiderate. I find this very unfair. Just because they have to keep working, apparently they would prevent others from having a relaxing journey. Not to mention that their typing and the light from the screens may be disturbing others around them and that it is really hard for others to get in and out of their seats.

Providing more room between seats for all is the solution, but obviously the airlines are not going to do that. Perhaps they will be willing to create a separate section of non-reclining seats with laptop trays. They can even charge extra for such seats. The workaholics can buy those and leave us ordinary folks to our journey in peaceful if not laid back fashion. Now, don't start complaining that I am giving the airlines ideas. I am sure that they have thought of every way to charge passengers more. They just have to figure out how to make it sound like a great deal first.

A Madras Morning

The birds were making a row. They were really loud and definitely not singing. Having been startled out of my sleep, I looked at the clock and saw that it was just 5:45. I hoped these early birds got their worms and tried to go back to sleep. But they continued to get louder as more of them were now joining the chorus. It was a raucous sort of symphony.  Maybe it was music to this particular species, but I am sure the cuckoo would have disagreed.

I continued to lie in bed and stared at the ceiling fan whose noise was being drowned out by the birds. But there was something soothing about the fan and I was just dozing off again when there was a new sound that startled me. This was from a woman who was selling greens of various types from a pushcart. She was rousing the residents of this block of flats to see if any of them were interested in purchasing the vegetables. It was just after 6 O’clock, but resistance was clearly pointless. So I got off the bed and walked into the bathroom.

Through the window in the bathroom, I could hear the water running in the bathrooms in the neighbouring apartments. The cacophonous symphony outside was being joined by an increasing number of performers – the water pump that filled the overhead tank, a tanker of water on the street, the traffic from the main street a block away punctuated by the honking of horns every few seconds and early morning television. When I came out of the bathroom and walked into the living room, someone on TV was lecturing on the importance of following dharma. I went out to the balcony where the cool early morning air was as refreshing as the hot coffee my wife had handed me. I sat down on a chair and surveyed the scene outside.

In a city that was plagued by water shortages, there was no dearth of greenery. In fact, no one would have guessed that this city was starved of water. Many thoroughfares were lined with large rain trees or other shade-giving trees. Coconut palms and mango trees could be found in every lot with a house or even a block of flats. The noisy birds that woke me up were no doubt perched somewhere on the mango tree in the corner of the compound.

The main street just a block away was no exception. There was an entire section of the street that got no sunlight as it was under the heavy canopy of the trees. I decided to take a walk down that road and so quickly got dressed and legged it there. Given the early hour, the traffic was light. The shops were yet to open and I was able to walk without bumping into the usual throngs. I could even step on to the road without fearing for my life and cross the road at the intersections. When it gets really busy, I sometimes think that the safest way to cross this road is to engage an auto rickshaw.

While walking down the street, the tops of buildings are blocked by the trees and you may well imagine that the years have done nothing to them. But change has actually been continuous over the years. Most of the buildings have been renovated, expanded and thoroughly modernized. The shops are glitzier with many international brands being sold, the buildings are taller and even the sidewalk shops have more upscale ware for sale now. There is a divider in the middle of the road ensuring more orderly (as much as possible!) traffic flow and preventing pedestrians from crossing the road.

It is impossible to describe the complete transformation that has taken place here. I wondered how it was that some shops had remained unchanged with all the building boom. The barber shop, the little pharmacy, the small shop that offered to frame your pictures, and the shop that sells coffee beans and powder – these had somehow escaped the trend. The flower shops with garlands of roses hanging are still around to provide a pleasantly cooling fragrance as you walk past them and the vegetable market and fruit shops are very much part of the scene as always. It is actually amazing that while so much on this road has changed over the years, the trees are still in place.

I could see that the activity was picking up now. Milk and newspaper delivery boys were returning from their rounds. The vegetable vendors, who would soon compete with one another in a shouting match to attract potential buyers, were busy arranging their produce. A few early morning customers had arrived for haircuts at the barber shop. Restaurants were open for business serving breakfast to their first customers. A small group of people had gathered in front of the temple in the corner for morning worship.

The city was waking up. Soon, the road would be a chaotic blur of noisy action. Up in the canopy, the birds continued their raucous song, unmindful of the drama unfolding below. They were not going anywhere as long as the trees remained intact. I was now thankful for their presence.

***

'The old order changeth, yielding place to new'. The Sidewak Shops have been relocated to a new building and Pondy Bazaar is set to get a face lift. The Pedestrian Plaza planned there certainly looks promising, but these shops were a unique feature and many will miss them. I only hope that the majestic trees will be spared and the birds will get to keep their home. 

Earth Day Musings

"But it is illusion to think that there is anything fragile about the life of the earth; surely this is the toughest membrane imaginable in the universe, opaque to probability, impermeable to death. We are the delicate part, transient and vulnerable as cilia." (From: The Lives of A Cell, by Lewis Thomas)

The observance of Earth Day seems to be a feeble attempt to draw attention to the deleterious effect that we, human beings have had (and continue to have) on the environment. Like the fool sitting at the end of a branch and cutting it off the tree at the same time, we have been exploiting the earth's resources at enormous cost to our own long term survival . But now, we seem to be scurrying to find ways to save ourselves. As in many of our endeavours, we need a larger than life symbol to rouse us from complacency. Mother Earth fits the bill and Earth Day certainly sounds nobler than Human Day.

The idea of earth day brings a slight chuckle to me. I mean, here we are, very recent arrivals on the face of this earth, trying to mount an effort to save the earth. Obviously, the only reason for our concern is our own survival. I do not think it matters to nature whether human beings make it as a species or not. In the incredibly long cosmic calendar, we may be but a momentary flash. Nature will no doubt shrug us off and carry on. Another species capable of surviving the harsher environment may appear some day. It is unlikely that the rest of the universe will mourn the passing of homo sapiens.

We like to set ourselves apart from nature though we know that we are part and parcel of it. We are just a little cog in the macro-organism called Earth, like the flora and fauna that inhabit the human body. I wonder if the billions of teeming bacteria in my body will ever decide to observe a day in my honour. I mean, I have been faithfully feeding them all my life. I would hope that they reciprocate in kind by keeping me in good health. Does Mother Earth not deserve similar consideration from us? So it is fitting that we observe Earth Day.

We are perhaps the only species with the awareness to realize our precarious situation even if it is of our own making. It may sound ridiculous, but I cannot help considering myself (and humanity) to be the centre of the universe. I think we are programmed to think that. Throughout our short history on the planet, we have assumed that we have the power to shape our destiny. This has helped us achieve incredible things and it may also be what will save us or doom us now.

Worrying, it seems, is another unique trait found only in our species. Normally, I am mostly concerned about me and my family. Occasionally, however, I worry about big things like the future of humanity. What will we do when the liquid gold we keep mining out of the earth runs out? Will we have developed alternate fuels to the necessary extent? Will we have found a substitute for plastic? And so on. At some level, I feel certain that the genius of the human mind will come up with the innovations required. It is likely that the way out will involve the rich countries scaling back on their consumption. At the same time the newly developing populations feel that this is their time to acquire the trappings of wealth. How will we balance their aspirations against the rising tide of global warming?  Such thoughts fill my mind on this Earth Day.

I guess the critical question is whether humanity will muster up the collective will to act in time. I am optimistic that we will rise to the challenge. We have only been here for a moment of geological time and surely still adjusting to our new life. We may not quite know how and there may be some pain along the way, but nature will show us the way, if only we would listen. Like the bacteria in our bodies, I am sure that we do perform some useful function for Mother Earth. We just need to be willing to accept her embrace.

About the Image: First ever image of Earth Taken by Mars Color Camera aboard India’s Mars Orbiter Mission (MOM) spacecraft currently orbiting Earth prior to upcoming Trans Mars Insertion engine firing. Image is focused on the Indian subcontinent and captured from an altitude of 70,000 kilometers. Credit: ISRO (More at: http://www.universetoday.com/106761/indias-mom-mars-probe-images-earths-children-prior-to-nail-biting-red-planet-insertion/

Kasi Chombu

We had a little bit of rain today. It was not the kind of rain that I described in Summer Tempest. No, this was a silent rain, the kind that creeps in quietly, descending as a very fine mist, recognized only by the wet ground later. Living in San Diego, I have become accustomed to long dry spells, but this year has been particularly dry. I remember the first rain during the year we moved to San Diego. I was at the grocery store when all of a sudden people were rushing to the front. I was surprised to learn that the commotion was caused by the fact that it had started to rain and quite sharply. Apparently, it was a novelty for water to come out of the sky here. 

Naturally, today's bit of rain made news. But it was certainly not significant. It did not cause water to run in streams or collect in puddles. And so I was surprised to find water running down the street when I walked out after the rain. It turned out that it was actually the runoff from someone's lawn where the sprinklers had come on! I thought it looked like a miniature river as it flowed down the side of the street. I walked alongside for some time as the water meandered down toward the storm drain that would eventually take it to the Pacific ocean. I felt a childish pleasure watching that  little stream of water on the street, remembering the days when we used to sail paper boats down such streams.

I wondered if rivers actually began their journey in this humble manner. Or did they dash down madly all at once? How magical it would be to witness the birth of a river! King Bhagiratha did just that (as related in the Ramayana) when he got the celestial river Ganga to come down to the earth. Of course, it was no easy task getting Ganga to descend from heaven. It took many years of hard penance. Finally, when she came down, she was swallowed up by Shiva's matted locks and was released in seven gentle streams so that the world would be spared her destructive force. Of these, one followed Bhagiratha's chariot.

Descent of Ganga (Mahabalipuram Sculpture)

"The effulgent royal sage Bhagiratha, sitting in a divine chariot, moved ahead and Ganga followed him."(Valmiki Ramayana 1-43-30/31)
"In whichever direction Bhagiratha went, Ganga followed"
(Valmiki Ramayana 1-43-33)

This is the part that really thrills me even today. Ganga followed Bhagiratha faithfully, full of vigour, dancing to his tune, overflowing the banks here and there as he made his way to the ocean.  Imagine being present to watch the first drop of water emerge from the river's source. Imagine guiding the river down the hills, along the plains and into the ocean. I wonder if Bhagiratha said, "Alright, let's take a left here around these villages here and there, hang a right by the woods", and so on. Were there natural channels for the river to flow into or did she carve out the banks instantaneously? Did Bhagiratha really lead her or just ride along as she made her way? Either way, it was a sight like none other. It is said that there was a veritable stampede in the sky as celestial beings jockeyed for the best viewing positions.

Born in heaven and sanctified further by her contact with Lord Shiva, the Ganga is held sacred by Hindus and a pilgrimage to Kasi and other holy places on her banks is a must for devout Hindus. While Bhagirtha might have brought the river from heaven to earth through extraordinary effort, ordinary people take her water to their homes in far flung parts of the country with much greater ease. Those who go on the pilgrimage to Kasi carry back some Ganga water in sealed copper pots or 'Kasi Chombus' (chombu - pot or vessel) as they are known when they return. They would also bring lengths of black threads called 'Kasi kayaru' (Kayaru - rope/string) which were given to kith and kin to wear as bracelets around the wrist, symbolizing a pledge to make the pilgrimage one day.

It is common to see the little sealed pots alongside idols and pictures of God and Goddesses in the pooja room in traditional homes. When I was young, I used to be intrigued by these little 'Kasi Chombus' . They were part of the retinue in the altar and obviously held an important place. You could shake them and hear the liquid sloshing inside. The pots were never unsealed or at least it seemed that way. I did not understand their purpose until the day my grandmother passed away. On that day, one of the pots was opened so that she could be given a little Ganga water which is believed to purify one of all sins. When I heard the story of Bhagiratha, I learned that he too had brought the Ganga down to earth so that her waters could wash over the ashes of his dead ancestors and enable their souls to go to heaven.

Some have suggested that the Ganga that had been locked up frozen in the folds of the mountain during the ice age, had started flowing again with the warming of the earth and this might have been immortalized in the story of Bhagritha and Ganga. Stories apart, the importance of the Ganga, a lifeline to hundreds of millions, is very real and tangible. Like the rain, the Ganga too has her origin in the heavens. Like the rain, she too sustains life on this earth. But unlike the rain, it is said that she takes care of our lives in the next world too. She provides both external and internal purification. She is Mother Ganga. May we respect her and keep her waters pure.

Ganga's Descent Image Courtesy: http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/6/69/Descent_of_the_Ganges_01.jpg/320px-Descent_of_the_Ganges_01.jpg

A Ramble On Walking

I like to walk. To be accurate, I should probably say, I like to go for walks, because walking is now a deliberate activity. I hardly ever walk to go any place. Everyone is so used to the car that we now have web sites (like this one) to teach us how to walk. But luckily, I have not forgotten this apparently fast disappearing skill and more importantly, I thoroughly enjoy it.

Walking provides more than physical exercise. If my mind is agitated, walking tends to have a calming effect. If I am relatively calm, then it puts me in a contemplative mood often adding a spiritual dimension. A quick stretching of legs outdoors can serve as a refreshing tonic in the middle of a tedious work day. Just going about myself, on the neighbourhood streets, in the park, by the beach, or in the woods, accompanied only by my thoughts, I am quite content. Having a companion to walk along with you is certainly a bonus. However, I find a bigger group distracting. Three is definitely a crowd in this case.

Even on cloudy days, when it is kind of depressing to stay in, walking can lift our moods. With a stiff wind rushing past my ears, and a faint hint of rain (and only a hint - walking in actual rain is not my cup of tea), I find a brisk walk positively bracing. The faster you go, the louder the roar of the wind gets and soon you are enveloped in it and forget the ambient noises, and with it, any negative feelings.

Occasionally, I would go to the beach for my walk. On the beach, where you have the water on one side and the road on the other, the sound of the waves provides a soothing contrast to the noise of the traffic. There is always a lot of people on the sidewalk, some jogging, some on bicycles, and others walking their dogs. Then there are the surfers getting into their wet suits. It is fascinating to watch them ride the waves. The one drawback for me with walking by the beach is that I have to actually drive to get there in the first place.

One of my favourite places to walk is the nearby canyon preserve. Just minutes into the preserve, you are transported to a different world. The sound of traffic can be heard no more. Instead, there is the pleasant babble of a small stream and of course the sounds of birds. I am grateful to be living in close proximity to these peaceful woods. Even though it is in the middle of a large metro with a population of almost two million, the preserve is never crowded. It is even possible to encounter the odd coyote there.

On this crisp February morning, I chose to walk in my own neighbourhood. The air was thick with the giddying scent of pink jasmine blossoms, occasionally broken by the pungent smell of alliums. As I walked past the houses with manicured lawns and bougainvillea bushes with flame-coloured blooms, the birds were out in full strength and seemed to be gathering for their morning conference. The air was cool but the bright sun muted its sting. A light breeze made the walk very enjoyable. Every now and then, a car rolled by. I walked at a brisk pace and up the climbing road. By the time I reached the bridge over the freeway, I was feeling quite exhilarated.

As always, I paused at the bridge to look at  the freeway traffic. Cars and trucks were rushing down the freeway in both directions in a deafening roar. I lifted my gaze to the western horizon, where, when it is absolutely clear, I can catch a glimpse of the distant ocean. Some evenings, you got to see a gorgeous sunset or hot air balloons making their way across the sky. On cloudy days, however, it is impossible to make out the horizon in the enveloping grey. Today, there were some low clouds covering the sky to the west, even though the sky was otherwise clear. To borrow a phrase from Forrest Gump, "I couldn't tell where heaven stopped and earth began".

I turned my eyes to the east and was greeted with the morning sun bathing the hills near and far and rooftops on the street below. It was curious to see the houses from the higher point. The steep gradient and the twists and turns of the street, made them appear randomly placed. While you would see a neat row of houses when you are walking on the street, the view from above resembled a jumbled heap.

I decided to take one of the lower streets today. Although the street was in the shadow, some of the houses were catching the light reflected from somewhere. The thing with sunlight, is that it bounces off various surfaces and somehow makes its way into the house quite unexpectedly. All we have to do is keep the blinds open and light will surely find its way in just as knowledge finds its way into an open mind. It reminded me of the Gayatri mantra: "We meditate upon His (the Sun's) most effulgent light. May He stimulate our intellects".

Reading Rekindled

When it comes to gadgets, I am no early adopter. I wait for the new technology to shake off the initial problems and get stabilized first. Even then, I may decide to hold out - case in point, I still use a flip phone. Naturally, when eReaders first came out, I was in no rush to get one. This was not some newer, better way, but a fundamentally different way of reading books. Surfing the internet and reading articles is one thing, but the idea of reading an entire book on a screen takes some getting used to. And there is much more to books than just reading.

When you buy a book, it is primarily for reading, but like with many things we enjoy, the other senses too play a part. The feel of the book, the  rustle of the pages when you turn them, the glossy cover and the new book smell - all these add to the whole reading experience. You can also discretely broadcast to others what you are reading, in the process, perhaps impressing them, without having to say a word. Your collection of books can be displayed neatly on shelves with pride of ownership. A wall of books is so inviting, is it not?

My father had a fairly large library housed in several shelves. This collection was quite impressive with books in English, Sanskrit and Tamil on many different subjects from Silappathikaram to Shakespeare. You would find literary classics as well as some contemporary authors. Those books are an important memory from my boyhood. When I picked up one of them and opened it, I would see my father's name, sometimes along with the date when it was purchased. Many of them had been published and purchased well before I was born. Every time we moved, which was once every three years or so, the books would be packed carefully in wooden crates. The shelves themselves were disassembled and packed for the move as well.

When you look through an old book, you get a sense of shared history. Many hands must have browsed the same pages. There may be some notes in the margin by readers past. There may be an old photograph or letter tucked between the pages. You may also find a feather, a leaf, or a bookmark there. The book may have passed from one generation to another. Some may be collector's items, being the first edition of the book or bearing the author's signature; some with old dust jackets intact, others with a calico or leather binding, and so on. Each book seems unique in some way.

Higginbothams, Chennai

I used to acquire books pretty regularly at one time. Every time I went on a business trip, I would buy a book from the little bookshop at the old Bangalore airport just before boarding the plane. It was a little hole in the wall, but the collection in that shop was considerable and amazingly varied. Almost all the PG Wodehouse novels I have, were acquired there as also a few Edward de Bono's and such. Even when travelling by trains, we had the old Higginbothams (the oldest booksellers in India) stalls at many stations ready to provide reading material for the journey. The Higginbothams building in Chennai, which is a historical landmark, was a favourite haunt of mine.

Over the years, I seem to have lost the reading habit. Instead, television and the internet have taken over my spare time. Keen to revive my reading, I recently decided to give eReaders a try with the idea that the novelty would act as a catalyst. I knew that I had to forego the whole gamut of experience that I have had with printed books. Plus, the eReader has come with its own idiosyncrasies. For instance, when I pick it up to read a book, I cannot tell you how many pages the book has. But I can see that I have completed 23% and the estimated time to finish is 7 hours and 34 minutes. If I wish to thumb back to a page I have already read, it is a complex task involving several buttons and a search engine. Reading a book from cover to cover has become more of a figurative thing. While I have several books stored in the Kindle, only one person can read at a time. It is ridiculously simple to purchase an eBook (spending money is always easy), but if you want it signed by the author, tough luck. You are limited in the choice of languages. And so on.

I have managed to read a few books in the last three months and seem to have sort of got used to the device and its quirks. The ability to carry a large collection of books in my hands is certainly an advantage as I am able to switch among several books that I am reading now. I am also able to download free of charge many old classics (including some newer ones that are more than 70 years old) for which copyright has run out. Most importantly, I am once again reading books. I think that is a good thing, whether I read them the old fashioned way, or under a nook using my Kindle. And if I really like a book, perhaps I will go out and buy a hard copy for my collection!

(Image Courtesy: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Higginbothams.jpg)