Conspiracy?

In upcoming news, I will defend my thesis on 21st December. Yep. Not joking at all.

Party conversations

Let the persons involved be unidentified. It's better that way. Call them X. That may represent the same or multiple persons...

X: (muttering to self) 2 carries over... and..
Me: What?
X: I'm trying to multiply 31 and 37 to see if I'm drunk.
Me: Ummm what?
X: Well, they are the two prime numbers just above 30.
Me: ....
X: I started with primes above 20.. now slowly progressing to higher numbers.
Me: ... If you feel the need to multiply 2 numbers to check if you are drunk... You ARE drunk.

----
Me: Is that chocolate?
X: Yea. (while holding a glass of pastis) Alcohol followed sweet stuff is extremely bad. I'm getting it!
Me: ...

----
X: Hey you, you are Korean right? You have to take this shot with me.
Y: Yea.. what drink it is?
X: It's (something something, I forget). Come on... looks for a shot glass. What the hell do they say in Japanese before you drink?
Y: Umm.. nomi.. no that's "to drink"... ummm
Yes, X was French, Y was Korean and the drink was not Japanese sake. I have no idea why they wanted to say whatever in Japanese.

----
(A few hours later)
X: So, 51 is not a prime right? 53 is. I'm now trying higher primes.
Me: Yep... and 59.
X: Right, 57 is not.. because it is a multiple of 19.
Me: (Stares)... Wasn't it easier to remember it as a multiple of 3.
X: Oh yea.. 19 times 3 is 57. Didn't realize that.

----
Here, X is the host, early on in the party. I'd just reached their place.
X: I'd hoped more people would come. Those lazy idiots.
Me: Well maybe they will come late. Everyone is late.
X: Maybe. It's the long weekend now, so the party can go on till really late.
Me: yea... we can party till Sunday night... no one will want to leave. No matter what. And then... then, you'll just have to shoot whoever is left. That would be your only solution.
X: ....

Motorcycle tales - redux

In this recounting of the further adventures concerning the motorcycle saga, we will learn how physical strength, high school chemistry, basic physics, pure mechanical engineering and a willingness to part with your money can all come together to fix the bike.

Last we checked up on the motorcycle, it had gotten new spark plugs, new battery, new air-filter, an oil change, new oil filter and a big ego.

Coming off months of storage, the bike starts off well, but there is just something wrong with the way it runs. A few days on, I start hearing explosions. No, not in my dreams. And not just me. Everyone hears them (just in case you think I am hallucinating). The motorcycle fires off a huge fire-smoke thingy after every few minutes. 3 cars crash because the drivers were dozing, my motorcycle woke them up startled and made them over-react. (Not really). I've stalked enough online motorcycle forums to realize this: unburnt hot fuel leaves engine, comes to exhaust where this hot fuel gets oxygen and explodes. In other words, carburettor is being a lazy ass.

A few days later, I notice that fuel leaks out of the carburettor, into the air-filter and then out of the air-filter drain hose onto the ground. Again, in other words, carburettor is acting like 3 year old being force fed green veggies who then refuses to swallow. Previous attempts with carburettor have proved that I cannot dismantle it, let alone clean and inspect it.

1 month, 2 trips to the mechanic, and 250 € later, a grim news awaits: about a litre of water in fuel tank caused loads of  rust. Rust, that found its way to the carbs. Rust that blocked air, messed up fuel and caused explosions. Rust that, according to the mechanic, "cannot be removed. Even it can, there's no point because it'll come back". Yeaaaa, Mr. smart-alec, what's the point of repairing anything - it's all gonna get messed up again. You should just retire. Apparently, "the only option is to get a new tank". How much is the new tank? "Ah, forget about it. Worth more than the bike in it's current condition."

Yep, I know it looks gross.

Merde!

Like any respectable nerd, I head back to the internet. Turns out if you like using acid (Hydrochloric) and anti-rust paint, you can get rid of the rust. Drain tank - fuel, water and all. Throw in Hcl, shake tank, drain, rinse with hot water, dry, paint with anti-rust paint, dry, tada! Except, France refuses to stock that particular anit-rust pain. A trip is made to local hardware shop, where I'm told that I should "get paint for motorcycle from the motorcycle shop".

More internet later, another technique is discovered - electrolysis. Fill tank with electrolyte (washing soda+water), make tank the cathode, provide a steel anode, connect power supply. Wait few hours. Astute readers will remember that there is an old battery lying around. I buy the rest of the stuff. Drain the tank. Except, there are hidden pockets with more fuel inside. Even the Italian pickpockets wouldn't be able to get their hands on them, they are that hidden. The best way to drain turns out to be: pick up tank, shake it like a Martini that 007 would want so that fuel pops out of those pockets and out the tank. Except tanks are not light.

I now have stronger arms...

To be sure, the electrolysis is repeated multiple times. The results of the exercise are visible when I play volleyball - faster serves and better smashes.

Drain electrolyte (shake it, daddy!), dry tank (hair dryer, air-mattress pump, fire of 10 burning suns), fix it back on the motorcycle. I now can fix the tank unaided in 5 minutes (or less). You know what they say about practice...

Deep breath, fill back the petrol. Motorcycle starts (of course, it would. There's nothing wrong with it except that rust, which has been removed).

1 week later, hear a couple of unnatural noises. Shrug it off. A few days later, while starting the bike, hear a loud noise. Like someone threw a spanner in a metal bucket and hit that metal bucket with a hammer. Motorcycle just about starts. Few hours later, when I need to start the bike, I need to push start it (Push bike, drop second gear, release clutch, vrroooooom). Charge battery overnight. Next day, bike doesn't start.

Put on your Sherlock Holmes cap. You hear something spinning, something clicking, but engine is not turning. Hmmm, battery was good but drains immediately. I.E trying to start bike is causing circuit to close with ultra low resistance and battery drains. Or, starter has issues. Open the left side of the engine, where the alternator resides.

Shock and horror await --->

Those black things are magnets. They aren't supposed to be crushed.

Order new rotor off the internet. Get the bolt off. To get this old rotor off, one needs a sliding hammer. What's that? Even the French don't know. Dammit. Read about various other hacks of getting the rotor off. I don't even find the tools for the other hacks. During one particular attempt, a piece of another bolt gets stuck inside.

Finally give up. Realize that removing this will take about 1 hour or so if done by a mechanic. Get an appointment with a mechanic (a different one). It's 20 days away. On the day, get your trusty flatmate to help you push the bike (with a dry weight of 170 kg). The mechanic asks you to come back in the evening. In the evening when you go back, he says when he checked it, he didn't have the right tools at hand. The tools are in his other place. One more day. He asks if he should also clean up all those crushed residue. I tell him he should.

The next evening I go back. Another problem. That piece of the bolt that got stuck... remember it? It's really stuck. Mechanic angry. Says he's spent 3 and a half hours until now working on the bike. At 47€ per hour, it's already 165€. Thank heavens for those American credit cards. He asks me to come back the next evening.

Next evening, I'm told that everything is good now, except that the alternator is shot. The crushed magnets flying around probably damaged it. I tell him that there is no need to change it right now, it's not critical anyway. He says I should come back the next day then. The guy is driving me crazy now. I go back the next day around 2 pm, and he says he still hasn't finished it. He hadn't had time to do it. Frustrated, I push back the bike home - parts hanging around and all.

A few hours later, it is all fixed. The bike starts. Woo hoo!

The next day, a Sunday, the bike refuses to start again. I dismantle stuff, find nothing, put it back together. Push-starting works. Phew! Except the clutch setting is all wrong and it needs loads of pushing. I figure this out in the evening. Monday morning, fix the clutch and push start it. At work, spend about 30 minutes thinking it through.

Aha! The money-stealing, lazy-ass mechanic did not tighten the rotor correctly. Leave work, buy a torque wrench, get home, open bike, tighten rotor. Put back everything. Bike starts like nothing had ever happened to it.

Phew...

Anatomy of motorcycle repairs

"Change oil, remove battery and either drain out all the petrol or fill up the tank."
These are the tips I read for storing a bike for winter, 1 day before leaving for India. Naturally I scourge other websites which tell me that changing oil can be done later, after winter. When I plan to change the regulator that is apparently unrepairable.

After winter, I bring out the toolkit, fish out the pdf manual and scroll to the correct page. The battery-less laptop is upstairs, so I memorize the instructions, run down (so that I don't have enough time to forget). Start dismantling frame cover and seat.

Panic - "What does the regulator look like?!"

Run upstairs, stare at the photograph. Wonder if I am doing the right thing. Walk down, disconnect the regulator wires and start unscrewing the screws. A flimsy spanner screwdriver and rust on the threads ensures the following:

There is no way to put it back. Damn. Also realize that the new regulator has a slightly different shape and the screw would not fit anyway. "It wasn't all my fault", I convince myself. Use Velcro as a fix.

Ten thousand thundering typhoons! Bike still doesn't start.

Clean the spark plugs. Recharge battery for two days. Send out a "HEEEELLLP" post to motorcycle forums.

Next weekend:
Realize that I need to test the ignition coils. "Where are they?" The bike manual says, "under the petrol tank." Ouch. By now I am an expert at removing the frame covers. I take a deep breath and get to work at the petrol tank. Loosen the bolts. Try lifting the tank. It barely budges. Apparently I have to pull, tug, lift and wiggle the tank to get it to move. Swish, swish! Oh crap, the fuel moves around causing the tank to wobble almost out of control. Deep breath. Lift it and peek underneath - two fuel hoses. Rest the tank on the frame, run up read the manual. It says, "Turn the fuel cock to OFF position. Remove the fuel hoses." Hmmmm. Run down, tug at the hoses. They have been fixed by pressure clamps.

Re-adjust the tank on the frame so I can see the ignition coils. (Are they really the ignition coils?) Damn, I need a multi-meter. Put everything back.

The next weekend:
Procure a multi-meter. Test the resistances. Something is wrong, but you still cannot figure out what. Also, the resistances seem fine, i.e ignition coils might be okay. Pull hair out. Also, I *think* I did see the spark plugs spark when I last tested them with a charged battery. But the engine doesn't fire! I don't know what's wrong!

Realize I probably need a new battery. Order a new battery off the internet. Then realize that I might also need new spark plugs. Wait.

The weekend after that:
A friend takes pity on me and offers to help. Also, he has a ginormous tool-box with all kinds of spanners, wrenches and stuff. He has also successfully fixed his car from time to time. Kaching! We open the bike up. Successfully remove the tank and the hoses. Check the wiring, and the ignition coils - they are all fine. The scene is like this:

Yes, the manual is still a pdf on my laptop. And I figured out it's better to have the laptop downstairs. My friend then says, "Maybe the problem is not just the spark plug. Maybe your engine is not getting the correct air-fuel mix. We should check the carbs." Uh-huh.. have you done it before. "Ya, for a car, but never for a bike."

"Well, we are here anyway, let's do it", I say. "But let me take pics as we go, because the pdf doesn't really have great photos. There are too many hoses, pipes and wires running all around." I whip out the camera and the result is some amazing pictures that are of absolutely no help.

Cleaning the carbs seems too complicated. We start putting them back.

"Where did this hose go?" I ask.
"Dunno, check where the other end is", is the reply I get. So I tug at the hose. I start pulling it and it comes out completely. The other end isn't connected to *anything*. I stuff it back in. This makes no effing sense!

We put the stuff back. Apparently defeated.

The weekend AFTER that! (ya, this was a multi-week affair):
I buy the new spark plugs and the new air filter. Replace them. Figure out that the magical unknown hose was a water drain for the petrol tank. Use copious amounts of WD40 to destroy the rust at various places. Use copious amounts of chain oil to lubricate the damn thing. Fit the air filter, put the tank back, fix the new spark plug and connect the new battery.

Switch the fuel cock to the 'PRI' position, engage the choke. Pray and twist the key. The engine turns. Nothing. Twist again. Again the same. Twist again and pray..... IT'S ALIVE!!!!

High on math

Not too long ago (about a year or so) I had a highly random conversation. You know you are reading too much math when the following conversation occurs: (Translations in English provided when the dialogue switches to Hindi)

me: tu sadme se bahar nahi aa raha kya?
(me: You can't get yourself out of your depression?)

p: (Laughs) mere dil ke itne tukde ho gaye hai ki mein gin bhi nahi sakta  
(My heart has broken into so many pieces that I gave up counting)

You cannot even imagine. ek to counting mein problem hai.
(As it is I have a problem in counting things)

me: tujhe ginna waise bhi nahi ata. (As it is you can't count)

p: upar se itna zyada count (And to top it, it's such a high number to count to) 

me: uncountable. abhi koi real number system se pehchan kar le and har ek number ko apne dil ka tukda de   
(Now introduce yourself to some real number system and give each number a piece of your heart)
p: whats the zoke?

me: it will be a one-one and onto relation

p: whats the zoke bhai
whats the zoke?
(zoke = joke. See this)

me: tu nahi samjhega.. aajkal mujhe math seekhna pad raha hai
(You won't get it. Recently I have been forced to learn math)

p: hahahaha

me: ur dil (Your heart) has uncountable parts.. real numbers are uncountable
p: i know
me: so dono ko bijection kar de
(So perform a bijection on the two)

p: but real number ek seedhi line par hai
(But real numbers are on a straight line)

me: tere dil ko line mein arrange kar sakte hai.. thats my point
(You can arrange the pieces of your heart in a line, thats my point)

p: mere dil ke tukde scattered over real word ka 3d axes
(But the pieces are scattered over 3 dimensional space)

me: waise bhi a line and 3d space are isomorphic
(Well a line and 3d space are isomorphic) 

p: real axis aur real axes ke beech mein bijection nahi hai
(there isn't a bijection between the real axis and 3d space)

me: hota hai bhai
(There is one, trust me)

p: isomorphism hai pakka?
(There is isomorphism for sure?)

me: haan (Yes)
p: ruk sochne de (Wait lemme think)
me: [0,1] and [0,1]x[0,1] are of same uncountable type
p: okay
me: and so on
p: hmm
me: hence.. ur dil ko line mein arrange kar sakte hai --(Hence your heart can be arranged in a line)
toh wo heart ka arrow bana.. (So make an arrow out of that line)

aur kisi dil pe attack kar (And use that arrow to attack someone)

p: waah waah  (Sarcastic applause)
me: cupid
p: kya baat hai
samne hota to chappal se marta tujhe aaj
(If you were somewhere near me right now, I'd have shot you.)

Well, the translations aren't word for word, but I guess they capture the feel of it. Especially in the last sentence, where the literal translation is "I'd have hit you with my shoes/flip-flops" but given an opportunity to use a gun, P would have gladly shot me.

Science!

Aluminium reflects light. Especially when it is IR.

IR cameras go crazy. They detect markers everywhere. "I don't know what all to track!", they seem to scream. A4 sheets of white paper help somewhat. Not much though. A piece of paper, torn from your notebook, stuck on the offending portion of aluminium does marginally better. It works not because it doesn't reflect, but because it "reflects" it in some other direction. Thank those imperfect sticky tapes and bad planning that prevent the paper from forming a flat surface.

"Aha!", you say. "Black is black because it doesn't reflect. Hence! Therefore! Cover with black." Sadly, a robotics lab is not the art department. Paper, is white, and meant to be stuff on which research descriptions and equations ought to be printed. The spare black trash bag is used to test the hypothesis. It's glossy. It reflects. Less. But not zero reflection.

Next brain wave - "glossy" was the problem. See discarded packaging boxes lying around. Pick up one box, go ninja on them. (Ninjas are Japanese. Do they practice origami when dealing with paper? If so, they are in trouble. Origami involves only folding paper, no tearing. Hence, to be safe --->) Go Samurai on them. (Shit! They are Japanese too. But at least we know they carry swords. OK, back to science.) Cover reflecty surfaces with 'packaging boxes paper'. Success!

Moral learnt: Visible color black means visible light is not reflected. Also, since it is infrared light, you must revise your entire notion of reflection of light. Remember the goddamn physics you learnt, fool.

Many days later, figuring out what to replace your crude packaging paper with, to make it more professional and tidy, gives you headaches. Black cloth seems to be a good bet. Dommage! C'est marche pas.  :(

If cloth won't work, what will? In the back of the mind, here is what goes on: The paper was sorta rough and thick. The cloth was sorta silky smooth and thin. Hmm, a pattern, Watson! Probably thick/ big sheet of chart paper will work.

Notice a shadow on the screen as seen in one of the cameras. A piece of foam is causing it. Aha! Is it causing a shadow (i.e blocking something), or is it genuinely absorbing the IR light? Move it over to cover that aluminium portion right next to IR emittors, and see how it performs when it receives a full blast of infrared love. It's. Still. Black! ZING! A clothed version of Eureka Eureka!

Research. It's not always about math equations and cool code.

I can fly!

This post has been dredged out from the archives. I never completed it then, out of laziness, forgetfullness and some other ness monster. This is an ancient story that I would like to tell, and it has a moral too! The incident I describe occured in the middle of August 2007. It made so famous, that even 5 months after it happened, people who had never met me before would recognize that I was "that guy" on just hearing my name.

Laziness makes you notice every bike shop around you and the deal they offer. Gator cycle advertised "cheap bikes" for college students. Walmart has these nice sections where you have bikes on shelves (actually on shelves). Travelling to a new country makes you really great at multiplication. Especially by 40, since at that time $1 = Rs.40. So "cheap bikes" at Gator Cycles, with the cheapest at $200, were quickly scratched off the list and Walmart became the shopper's paradise. To think of it, everything that I had in the house then was bought in Walmart or in India. So, I bought this bicycle from Walmart for a measely $60-ish.

Compared to the bikes you get in India for similar prices, the bikes in US look pretty damn cool (notice how I mention that they only look cool). They have 18 or 24 speed transmission (yes, I used the word transmission for a bicycle because I like to glorify it) and a suspension system (cough.. cough). Long story short, I clicked pictures of the bike and my friends drooled and then envied me. Over the next week, I realised why the bikes were so cheap. Well, I guess I must point out that "cheap" and "expensive" are in the American context. For Indian prices, the bike was already expensive... and an outright rip-off.

The brake pads wore out within the week, and stuff was already rickety. Soon I had developed a masterful technique of stopping by bike - squeeze both brake levers hard, and if the speed is still not suffiently low, press the rubber coating on the bottom part of your shoes against the ground. I must point out that I never had the problem of not being able to stop in time.

So this one day, I heard the news that I would be getting a Teaching Assitantship at UF, which would cover my tuition costs and also give me a healthy paycheck. To say I was happy would be understating it. Suddenly there was this economic freedom and I immediatly agreed to go to Tampa with my friend - Nikhil. There was just a small hitch - he had left some documents (or keys or something) at another place and it was essential he have it before he left. I offered to go and pick it up for him so that he could finish his lunch. Since I had already left my bike at home, I picked up his bike.

So happy me decides to race the bike up to the place. A short check shows that the brakes are good. A short check also misses out the fact that the brakes are quite good and that since I am used to my super braking technique, I should take it easy. The short check also misses out reminding me that in US, the brakes are opposite - unlike those in India, the left lever is for the front wheel and the right is for the back.

As I zoom down the slope at a high speed, I think about how I will not be in debt anymore. I will be able to actually enjoy US without worrying about that multiplying factor. I also think that the SUV pulling out of the drive-way in front should not come so fast.

You know how in movies the action slows down at critical moments. Well, in actual life it doesn't. Here is what I remember: Oh car, I must slow down. Jam the brakes (damn you, short check). Where did the handle-bars go? Face palm upwards to see that the handlebars are gone. Umm, I'm not sitting on anything anymore. Land face first flat on the ground. Realize that the bike also hit you after you landed on the ground.

Get up dazed. The glasses are skewed. Take them off so you can check if they were damaged. See they are covered in blood and panic. Take out handkerchief so that I can stop the blood flow. Realize that I don't know where is the blood pouring out from. See left hand bleeding and use to handkerchief to clamp it down... and so on.

Here's what I guess happened. I jammed the both the brakes, but probably jammed the left one first causing the bike to flip. Since I was pretty fast, I got thrown off the bike. I think I flew 6-7 feet in the air. I did not realize that I was flying and turned up my palms to check where the handlebars had gone. No bones were broken and I did not hurt my head (as I first thought).

The kicker is, the car pulling out of the driveway wasn't at fault. He wasn't even in my way and I did not hit him either. I was trying to just slow down and he would have probably given me way if I hadn't flipped. My left hand was pretty damaged and the blood from it scared me and him. I refused his offer to call for an ambulance or 911. I hobbled a bit to the house I had to get to. Some Indian guy with a car saw me as I was walking and took me to the univ clinic where I got stitches.

Over the next 3 months I learnt everything about health insurance.

Everyone heard about the guy who didn't know how to ride a bicycle. They also heard how nobody hit me. I just fell off. Funny thing is, whenever I asked the Indian guys laughing at me which side the back brake is, they told me the Indian convention - left lever for back brake. So, considering that so many Indian students buy cheap bikes, it is a miracle there haven't been many accidents.

Moral of the story: If your life depends on it, spend more money on getting a better quality product. Also, don't be an idiot and do not race down a slope with bike unless you have atleast a helmet. Or really kick-ass insurance.

Hebbun and the curse of the light pole

No, we were not drunk. Nor were we high on anything. Moments of inspired randomness in good old Gainesville gave us these gems.

When something was truly awesome, it signified something more than heavenly. It was ... wait for it... hebbun. Or Hay-1. Or Hay-bun. For maximum effect, you pause a bit, Barney-style, after the "Hay" and then say the "bun" or "one" slowly.

Or there was this discussion about Noah and his ark. Being an engineer makes you think that you obviously know better than others. So, your meagre knowledge of probability makes you wonder about the odds of finding land when wandering around aimlessly. However, bouts of speech impediments prompt you wonder about the merits of "wanderously aimering". Your flatmate corrects you that they were actually "aimeresly wandering". You proclaim the 49,983th time that you "have not lost it", because you "never had it to begin with".

An old story about a professor who taught me in my undergrad in his heavily Marathi-accented English created a new form greeting. The same word is a semi-official nickname - "Shay".

Playing cards gets a new meaning. You actually play catch with credit cards.

You invent a new game with bottles of water, a foam ball, a rack of shoes, a bicycle. It's competitive too.

And then those night-time walks between the two desi "adda"s - Park 16 and Arbor Park give you newfound understanding about the mysteries of nature: the electric light pole near the Sun-bay bus stop is cursed. Whenever any of us walked under it, it toggled - it switched off it was on, or switched on if it was off. Sometimes, it toggled back after we had gone away from it's influence zone. There were non-believers, but Abhishek and I had empirical proof. The curse was known to follow us sometimes. It appeared when we were in the Florida Keys. Sometimes it followed us separately, Abhishek sighted it when he was with his friends. Recently, I had a sighting in France. Trust me guys, the electric light poles are cursed. Or maybe they are sending us a message.

More theories, it all HAS to add up

A myth tells of how Pelops overcame the king and won the hand of his daughter Hippodamia so that he could become king, with the help of Poseidon, his old lover. Another myth tells of the hero Hercules, or Herakles, who won a race at Olympia and then decreed that the race should be re-enacted every four years. Some people state that the Greeks believed that the gods enjoyed watching sporting events. These games also served as a way to ready men for battle with skills like running, wrestling, throwing the javelin for accuracy, and throwing the discus for distance.

The idea to revive the Olympic Games as an international competition came to Pierre de Coubertin, a French pedagogue and historian, in 1889 and he spent the following five years organizing an international meeting of athletes and sports enthusiasts that might make it happen. His reasons for this are not entirely clear (well, they are. But just like Dan Brown fudges facts, I want to too. So, play along). What's notable is that the first modern Olympic Games were held only 2 years after the proposals for them were approved in 1894.

---

Speaking of the French, the Algiers' crises of 1958 brought about the collapse of the Fourth Republic. The new Fifth Republic gave a 7 year term to the President until, in 2000, a referendum reduced it to 5 years. Whether it was coincidence or fate, or clever plotting, the course had been set.

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The French revolution has been said to inspire the have been inspired by the American revolution. George Washington took office as the first President of the US in 1889, and the country has had elections at 4 year intervals since then. In keeping with the pattern, the latest President took office in 2009. The elections for this were held in 2008.

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(I admit, this one is really wild) 

The number 116 is a noncototient. While the number 116! + 1 is prime. A significance, not to be forgotten (since we talked about the French), is that the Hundred Years War between France and England lasted 116 years. 116 is also the fire emergency number in Peru.

---

How is all this related you ask. Let me explain. 116 years after the first Modern Olympic games (whose original intention was to help atheletes prepare for battle) proposed by a Frenchman, the French and the American democracies (probably the oldest modern democracies) will go into elections to elect a new head of state. In 2012. 116, a number who the South American people of Peru associate with emergency, links these events.

(And like Dan Brown and other conspiracy theorists, crazy madcap idea comes right here ---->) I have lived in France and America for education. More proof of why I MUST (LOL) have something to do with this, can be found right in this post.

Sigh, I'm so full of myself. I love it. :P I guess I should think more about work now. Till later!

PS: Many sentences lifted as-is straight from Wikipedia. And I have used "artistic freedom" to freely (and wrongly) interpret stuff I want to, so that it fits my "theory". :D

2012

"... winning gold medals at the math olympiad was just a dangling carrot to get you all motivated. Winning medals there is not a true measure of success of this program. We will know whether our experiment was truly successful after, say, 10 years. Let us meet in 2012. I predict that each of you will have done something truly great. That will be the true measure of success for this program." -- Prof. P.

Well, it's not an exact quote, but it sums up what P meant in 2002. So, the date 1st June 2012 draws closer, just 29 months and few days away. At 6 pm, we are scheduled to meet in Pune. The golden medal guy has promised that, as always, he will be 5 minutes late. Among things changed, some are on their way to getting married already. Some have shifted fields. Mathematics no longer takes up a chunk of our lives. Some don't need it altogether. But the prediction says that we will still have benefited from the program, and I generally agree with it.

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I am scheduled to graduate with a PhD in August 2012. A couple of others might graduate in 2012 too.

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Sometime around 3000 BC (well, historians aren't quite sure about the exact date), the Mayans invented a calendar, that had a last date. Theories suggest that this corresponds to 21 December, 2012. For proof, refer to the movie that goes by the same title.

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The book "Foucault's Pendulum" by Umberto Eco writes about a fictitious conspiracy theory that 3 editors are working on that intends to be "the mother of all theories" and that ties in all myths and legends and reveals a greater Plan. In it, a "normal" character chides one of the leads about such theories saying, that you can choose any number, and any fact, and assign it a greater meaning. Making a conspiracy theory is quite easy and you can make it personal by (forcibly) relating it to events in your life. Maybe I should make a movie based on the above lines, make myself the lead character, and show how I was destined to be the saviour.... or the first one to go in the apocalypse.

Thawing

It is what happens to your feet when you walk out of your house into a 4 C cold breezy night in shorts, turn back and run into your house again where the has been set to 24 C.

Public transport... x-(

Its 8:09 am. You rush out of your house. The bus is supposed to reach the bus-stop at 8:07. You "know" that its always 5 minutes late. And heck, if you miss the 17, there is always bus 43. (grin about how lucky you are).

You reach the stop at 8:10:37. The bus stop is empty. Damn! Atleast one bus has gone by. Grrrrrr... Why did I press the bloody snooze button the 4th time and sleep for the additional 5 minutes? (rhetorical question of course... the bed is just too comfy :-D ).

You wait for the "43". Its 8:17. Time for the 16 to come. It doesn't seem to want to come. Maybe I should have cycled. I would have reached on time.. but would be damn sweaty and stinky for the very first lecture of the day. 8:19 am, my roomie ambles by. He gives me a grin - "missed the bus, didn't you?" types.

8:22 am. The bus roars in, literally. The lady who drives it has a blank expression on her face. No remorse. No apology to be expected. Your curse her. Load the cycle on the bus.

And you are late for you class again. Damn you, public transport!

Yum!

Take a bowl of fries / potato waffles. Put two slices of mozzarella cheese. Heat this in the microwave for about 20- 30 sec.

Take some hot Turkey chili soup and pour it over this microwaved stuff.

Yum, delicious, unhealthy food...

I love being thin!

Teething troubles

Wisdom teeth suck! They come at the wrong places, routinely cause pain and sometimes come up heading in the wrong directions. Ask me about it.

I had this wisdom tooth coming out horizontal!!! I mean, which tooth is so self-disrespecting enough to do that! I know that I nap most of the time, and it might have been confused with whats up. But it should learn from the other teeth...

Anyways, the point being that since I wish to go to the US, where dental care is expensive, I had to get my teeth fixed in time. The teeth cleaning exercise and then repairing the fillings activity was done in the last month, between my papers. What was left was the rogue wisdom tooth. Since the tooth had also decided to not pop out of the gum surface, it was double trouble. The dentist I go to does not do surgery. "Surgery" he called it!!! Me = shit worried. I hate hospitals & blood & things poking into me. (That I love to watch violent Tarantino-style movies is something else. Its not my blood, flesh etc. Its good make up!) Add to that the fact that I hate swallowing pills without chewing them and that you can't chew pills, meant I was stuck.

But I got around these worries somehow. Being stuck in a foreign country in pain is much less likeable than 2 days of agony, worry etc. So, the "surgery" was scheduled for today - 4th of July (Happy independence day my american readers, if that category exists). The doc who performs the surgery visits the clinic only on certain days. And today was one of them. I went there, a bit tensed up, at 12.30 sharp to hear that the doc was late.

45 mins of staring at nothingness or stupid Femina cover pages and doc arrives and summons me immediately. I sit on the chair and he asks me, "Which tooth?" Now it was 6 months back that the tooth hurt and I honestly didn't remember whether it was the right or left. I mumbled vaguely and told him to check the X-rays. :D (I am smart) Somehow, my guess - the right lower tooth - was right and he promptly pumped in two shots of anasthesia. Man, do they work fast!

I had my jaw wide open and eyes tightly shut so I actually didn't realise the he had finished injecting. Then he went out to work on another patient. Since I had nothing to do but wait, I suddenly recalled the great Feynman's antics. And I started to check how the anasthesia was holding up. First the lip starting going heavy. There was the mild pain due to the injection. The inner wall of the right cheek started going numb. Amazing thing is, there is distinct partition of whats "heavy" and whats not. Then anasthesia was working full time. It affected a bit of my ear too. Though the upper part of the ear did scream in pain when I pinched it.

I was asked to sit out in the waiting room for some time again. I sat there again. Bored to death. The doc then called me. And I got nervous. Those things might hurt. And I dint want to see any part of me being cut up. He made sit on that amazing inclined chair. Assuring me that it wont hurt, he fished out his tools and asked me to open my mouth. The cutting up happened quite fast I think. And then pulled out the drill. I think its the drill, or jack-hammer or powersaw. I didn't have the nerve to look at the THING that would wreck havoc in my mouth.

A dentist is essential a mechanical engineer. Or maybe a carpenter. Thats what i was thinking when he shoved that drill in mouth and started cutting out that tooth. He shoved, pushed, leaned on the drill and did everything possible that could get me to try and remember all the 33 crore Gods... I just kept praying that his drill didn't slip and cause permanent damage. Once, after about 5 mins of power display, he did try to pull the tooth out. He tugged, then kept his hand on mouth to hold my head down & tugged again harder. Back to drilling!

Thankfully, tooth extraction is a much shorter process than doing some filling. The jaw doesn't have to be kept open for eternity. He removed the tooth quite quickly, I must say. And then proudly showed it to me. Then came the stiches. They were done quite fast too. And off to home I was sent, with instructions on what to & what not to eat. Two days of drinking juices, syrups and non-hot stuff.

Sucks.. especially when its raining and all parts of your stomach and tongue crave for that hot steaming "kanda bhaji". Such is life...