The Papadam Paradox

Linda was enjoying her lunch at the new Indian restaurant which recently opened up in the busiest section of downtown. She relished the warm spicy food after that long walk down China Town. But her bliss was rudely disrupted when a waiter flashed a plate full of crispy golden discs, courteously asking,  "More papadum, ma'm?" She shook her head and was puzzled at why that bothered her. Then she knew - her model of an Indian restaurant contained Indians serving their traditional food, not white men like the waiter. There was a reason why she loved being a multiculturalist. She wanted to enjoy, visit and be part of every culture, in its true ethnic, authentic form. It ruins that cultural experience if she were to realize that the curry was being prepared by an Italian chef and the place was owned by Americans. Doesn't matter if the food tasted authentic. She no longer felt being part of a culture. But this would mean that every culture should stay pristine and isolated, while multiculturalists like her continue appreciating and experiencing diverse and exotic cultures. But such a distinct cultural diversity seems like a paradox to the meaning of multiculturalism, doesn't it? (Original Source: The Pig That Wants To Be Eaten, Julian Baggini)

In this era of intermingling cultures, this paradox is common to all of us. India is proud to call herself a nation of diverse cultures and traditions, exemplifying the meaning of unity in diversity. However, respect and tolerance for other cultures is not the same as being ready to appreciate and be part of another culture. Multiculturalism is a notch higher. It is exhibited when people start to imbibe and embody aspects of other cultures. In my definition, it is cherry-picking some interesting, significant or meaningful values, traditions and practices of multiple cultures and living one's life by them. But when multiculturalism percolates wide and deep, soon there will no longer be distinct cultures to experience or "pick" from. What might remain is a morphed amalgamation of multiple cultures, with the roots fading into oblivion. But unlike Linda, this consequence, of losing the authentic forms doesn't bother me. I don't believe that any culture has one distinct authentic form. Every culture has evolved, is evolving and continues to evolve. With very generation, there is a gradation. But thanks to history, mythology and scriptures, we can still manage to trace our way back to the original roots, as arduous and obfuscating as the journey may be. We try to figure out the original meaning and significance behind every present tradition and end up with unresolved questions and debates. But it doesn't justify or make sense to try and preserve the current definitions of one's culture. The evolution of human society and its culture are inevitable. Besides, it is unrealistic for the entire world to morph into one homogeneous culture. There will always continue to be variations of the present and past mishmashed cultures, and the future multiculturalists can wade their way through those variations. Isn't it how we function today, with Indo-Chinese food and American Pizzas?

The other question is - in what ways do a multiculturalist truly appreciate other cultures? Appreciating and adapting to dietary habits, purchasing ethnic art and materials, wearing exotic clothes, having a good time celebrating fun and interesting occasions? What is the point if such superficial elements are emulated? How does it matter if one doesn't resonate with the deeper meanings, symbolisms and principles behind the food, the clothes, the art and the celebrations? But this seems to be our current trend - selectively following superficial aspects of a culture without any integrity to its significance or to one's principles. This is not multiculturalism. It is a serious problem of identity crisis, mostly just a shoddy external pretension, a pompous act to call oneself an elite multiculturalist.

A true multiculturalist transcends cultural, material and religious boundaries, seeking to genuinely learn, appreciate, imbibe and practice those values that resonate with the inner self. 

Reflections: The Giver

As an incurable idealist, I have often imagined a futuristic Utopia, where civilizations will coexist harmoniously in a society that offers both equality and individuality. As I keep getting older, each little brick defining this imaginary castle is being taken down. I am coming to terms with the inevitable reality of human existence, reconciling with the fact that it is perhaps unrealistic to hope for Utopia, for there are too many unanticipated eventualities in the process. Many essays and books have been written on how the path to Utopia can turn devious and lead us into Dystopia, but this book is one of the first that explores how the extremes of Utopia can erode some of our fundamental elements. It makes us question if it's worth sacrificing the essence of humanity, for a harmonious life which guarantees peace, equality, and resources for all.

Jonas is a young boy awaiting his eleventh birthday with a bitter-sweet anticipation. On his b'day he will know what his future career would be, and how it would change his life. The momentous day arrives. Based on meticulous monitoring and survey of his potentials and skills, he is assigned the society's most honorable, unique, yet incredibly demanding and challenging job.

He is assigned? Does he have any say? How was he monitored? These are the pivotal questions. Every person in the community gets monitored - their every action, every utterance, and sometimes even thoughts. The Chiefs in the community decide the apt role of every individual in the society, and on their eleventh birthday, assign their future roles/jobs and begin training them. It is an optimal strategy which utilizes every individual's fullest potentials, thus guaranteeing growth and profit to both the community as well as the individual. A picture perfect model of resource allocation, isn't it? Individuals are also mostly content with their assignments. But Jonas's assignment is one of a kind. There is only one person in the entire community who takes up the job and he often gets burdened with intolerable pain and grief. His job is to hold centuries worth of human memories all to himself. Jonas realizes the bitter truth of how his community functions, and the more secrets he unravels, the more convinced he is that his community needs to revert to the days where people could feel emotions such as love and empathy, despite the prevalence of poverty, wars and inequality. Humanity was too heavy a price to pay for Utopia.

Jonas' guide calls himself the Giver. The people in the community have no access to books, have no means of knowing the history of humanity, and the causes and consequences of the evolution of their existence. The keeper of memories shields the people of any kinds of pain - physical pain, pain of losing, pain of hunger, pain of death. Everything in the community is regulated and controlled, such that people are never exposed to any kind of discomfort, let alone pain. Regulated and standardized meals were always provided, any physical pain was immediately pacified through sophisticated drugs and any cause of turbulence was instantly identified, crushed and terminated. Families did not form by themselves. "Family units" were formed based on the capabilities and personalities of males and females. Babies were assigned to those family units which demonstrated good parenting skills, and who seemed compatible with the baby's personality and needs. When people aged, they were sent to special retirement homes, where based on the supply and demand of resources, the aged were provided for, or they were "released" painlessly. A delicate balance of resources was diligently calculated and maintained. Equality, or "sameness" was exemplified. With advances in genetic engineering, every person was born with the exact same traits - skin, hair, eyes, and all other features. Discrimination based on any kind - caste, color, creed, was eradicated. The cones in the eyes were manipulated and the meaning of colors was obliterated. Weather and temperature were minutely controlled - no one knew what rain or snow meant. A world in monotones, where everything worked like clockwork, nature controlled, animals eradicated, history eroded, memories locked up, emotions diluted, individuality meaningless, and humanity -- was lost. Here is a flip side of Utopia when we try to perfect, equalize, standardize and normalize everything.

The tone of the book is reminiscent of Orwell's 1984, although here is a Utopian society of perfectness with nothing to depress one. Too much perfectness perhaps. An automatized society that churned out rational decisions according to relentless numbers. An interesting discussion that Lowry brings out is the importance of memories in helping us gain wisdom and learn. I have discussed this before, but devoid of memories, we are emptied of our precious experiences which help build our wisdom. But memories don't just end with our own. Imagine if we didn't have any means to learn about the world around us, no permission to books that stimulate thinking or to learn what happened in the past, and how they are playing into the future, how appalling would our ignorance be? The memories of humanity's past is equally important to our growth. While the community's motto was "ignorance is bliss", the lack of wisdom heads the Utopian society  to an unstable future.  Besides, pain - be it physical or emotional, also helps us grow (however unpleasant it is to grow through them). A pampered society oblivious to pain, learns very little about life. The keeper of memories attempts to provide the society guidance on their decisions but it turns futile.

Lowry's writing is simple but powerful. I appreciated how she strings the details on the community without any explicit narration. There is an element of mystery and the pieces on how the society functions slowly fall together. But I have to mention that this books is lauded with the Newbery medal, meaning it is a literary children's classic. It is my personal opinion that the topic of discussion is a trifle too heavy for children to comprehend or come to terms with. It will probably offer a good introduction to young adults to ponder on idealism in society. Lowry definitely reinforces the importance of our core values and she beautifully brings out the true meaning of humanity, and being a human.

Reflections: Crime and Punishment

Someone once asked me what classifies a book as a classic, jeering that most classics were merely outdated books written in another era and that they gained their exotic title because of merely ascribing their dense text to literary significance. Reading a classic is an experience, and I decided to save my breath trying to argue about an experience which clearly the other person hadn't felt. In all the scores of books I've read, very few have had the intensity to suck me into their depths, where I merge with the characters, their thoughts flowing in parallel with mine, the world shifting with every turn of the page. When the last page is turned and I struggle to yank myself out of the surreal world, and when the words and the intensity remain etched in me, the book was not just read, but lived. Crime and Punishment is one such a book. No matter how many times I read the passages, the words don't tire me; I only gain a new understanding and live a whole new feeling.

I first read the book as a teenager, and the book was so powerful in its intensity that I fell in love with it. I'm sure that not every page, nor every paragraph made sense to me, for this is a book that has to be read many times before every ounce of wisdom and truth in it can be felt and understood. Despite being too young to grasp the whole book, it captivated me. After all these years, when I finally am at a phase where I question the meaning of morality, the concept of sin and crime and the true limits of our rationality, Crime and Punishment was the most apt book for me to re-read. Rereading the book has only amplified my reverence for it and I'm glad that I could glean more wisdom from it this time. But I know I still haven't got everything from the book, and rereading it is an exercise to undertake again in another few years.

Raskolnikov, a young student in the grips of utter poverty, tries to rationalize the meaning of crime. He convinces himself to murder an old, miserly pawn-broker, originally with the intent to rob her and put the money to good use, helping his family climb out of the rut of poverty. But as he sets out to execute the crime, something in him doesn't agree with his will, yet he brings himself to murder the old woman, and her sister, who unfortunately happens to enter the scene. Raskolnikov faces a lot of ordeal in trying to escape the scene of crime, but thanks to a streak of luck, he manages to scurry out. Although his grand scheme hinged on the loot he would rob, he somehow didn't have any interest in robbing, and in his fluster, he carelessly scooped in some random trinkets and some odd money. Even this little loot, he buries under a stone and has no interest in touching them. He spends the next few days in fever and hallucinations, driving himself insane on why he committed the crime, if he still justified the crime, or if he should confess it all to give himself some peace.

How curious a man...he commits a crime that he thinks is not a crime, and yet he can't be in peace. He is skeptical about God, his intellect and rational mind assuages him that he merely killed a parasitic old woman who was tricking the poor and collecting their hard-earned money, that the money he robbed could give himself a new future, save his family and help him do much more good to the people of Petersburg than he ever could as a law-abiding citizen residing in a little hole of filth with not even enough money to wash and feed himself. Despite the logical arithmetic of killing two to save many, there was something in him that wouldn't stop nagging him -  his conscience. Here is where I merged with Raskolnikov. Although I am not contemplating any dire crime, I can relate to his qualms of stepping over the barriers to do something unconventional and extraordinary. And no matter how many hours, days, weeks, months and years are spent in trying to straighten out the logic and the rationality of it all, something never quietens. And there is no way out. Raskolnikov couldn't have walked away without executing his actions, neither could he be at peace after his actions. Having stuck oneself in the horns of a moral-dilemma, there is no painless way out. And the scars are deep and will remain. It just becomes a matter of which horn to gouge oneself with. And in Raskolnikov's case, he gouged himself through both horns.

And that is the essence of the book. It tests the limits of human conscience. It's a debate between the rational mind and the inexplicable voice of the conscience. Dostoevsky is a master analyst, and an astute psychologist. No matter how many times I have already talked about his perceptive genius, I can't tire. Here is an era wherein DNA fingerprinting and other sophisticated means of criminal investigation are unheard of. Yet, he weaves a suspenseful drama of how the crime is solved, with no material evidence...but all based on psychology. This is Dostoevsky's trademark... he used the same "double-edged sword of psychology" in the courtroom drama of The Brother's Karamazov. But in this book, he doesn't go into as much explicit analysis.

He propounds a thesis on what makes a man extraordinary. What made the great Kings and leaders who are now immortal in the history of Mankind, so great? They could break rules and make their own. They didn't subject themselves to the letter of the law. They were brave enough to rise above it, to realize that certain rules need to be broken, that morality has to be redefined in their hands, and that only their essence needs to seep through for them to murder a few to save millions, and still have a peaceful conscience. Those who can't step over such man-made pickets of rules, who are unable to see such moral clarity and act with conviction, are but ordinary. Raskolnikov strove to be such an extraordinary man, but failed. He failed despite his intellect, and despite his lack of faith in God. I marvel at Dostoevsky's deftness in glorifying humanity, no matter what decision Raskolnikov took. He stresses on the innate goodness residing in all men, despite their efforts to rationalize crime and be blind to retribution from a higher authority.

Through his other characters, he also compares the shades of legality and morality, and how each measures the goodness in a person. There are many men who circumvent and stay clever and obedient in the eyes of the law, yet their moral character is far more loathsome than a person like Raskolnikov, who goes against law and commits the highest "sin" - murder. Conscience is one factor, the other is the intention. Many philosophers and spiritualists have emphasized that an action by itself cannot be classified as good or bad... it is the intent behind it, and the purpose it serves. This is cleverly brought out in the book.

Another aspect that comes out is, how the murder affects Raskolnikov physically and mentally. The weight of his conscience and his immense resistance to the crime makes Raskolnikov feverish and delirious. These physical manifestations imply the psychosomatic effects of his inner tempest. Dostoevsky hints at how a person physically and mentally wears out every time he works against his conscience. This reminded me of the Horcruxes in Harry Potter. In my interpretation, this is exactly what Rowling also seems to imply. Every time Voldemort commits a horrendous crime, his entire soul suffers and splits into pieces, so much so that he deteriorates in both spirit and body.

As I mentioned, I'm sure there is perhaps more to the book that I have missed and need to re-read. But such is the beauty of this classic. It analyzes all the multiple complex facets of morality, crime and punishments, packed into words that are so impassioned and vivid. Truly a masterpiece.

Reflections: My Posse Don't Do Homework

LouAnne Johnson is a former Marine Corps Officer and a journalist in the US Navy who restarted her career as an English teacher, aspiring to teach at a University. In the course of her certifications, she took up a part-time job teaching high school students English in a California public school. She is assigned to a class that held the terrifying reputation of having harassed and driven away multiple teachers in the past, the most recent of whom had burst into tears and fled out of class. With trepidations on one hand, and enthusiasm in the other she walked into a class full of stubborn, closed, boisterous, obnoxious, and defiant teens who try as they might couldn't dampen her spirits. Instead, they inspired in her the unwavering grit to make them learn and reform them for the better. In this book, Miss. Johnson recounts her real-life encounters with "problem" teens, sharing her strategies, challenges, frustrations and extremely inspiring and moving experiences.

In the Hindu tradition, a teacher (Guru), is highly revered and is regarded to be a life-altering influence in the pupil's life. Respect for the teacher was implicit, and their command and authority were unquestioned. With such cooperation, discipline and obedience in place, the Guru could concentrate on imparting lessons and molding the pupils. But in recent times, respect is no longer implicit for anybody. Without the stringent enforcement of law, even basic respect for fellow human beings cannot be assured. Knowledge is no longer as isolated and concentrated in the heads of a specialized few. Besides, education is now a service. One pays, the other delivers. With little respect and discipline, unfortunately, a teacher's foremost task is to establish trust and respect, before delving into any serious teaching. With unruly kids who don't hesitate to insult and harass, and who don't seem to care about their grades or future, the task gets exponentially harder. We have all witnessed many such scenes with fellow classmates. We have seen such students being verbally abused, "punished", failed, and tormented, all in a vain attempt to discipline and reform. Yet, every year the same events unfold until everyone reaches a dead end, gets tired of flogging and being flogged at and there is unanimous resignation. Indifference sets in. The teacher no longer cares if anyone learns, and the belligerent ones no longer have to try to care.

In all these years of countless classes and numerous teachers, I can remember only a few... the rest no longer have a face, or a name, until memory is sufficiently squeezed. These few stand apart from the faceless crowd, not necessarily due to their exceptional teaching abilities, but because they truly cared, supported and helped. Miss. Johnson is one such a teacher. Rather than blame, criticize and get disheartened, she always took the initiative to first understand the student, their personality, and the life they led. As in most public schools, the "less-ambitious" students were cooped into a different set of classes. Most of these students hailed from the low-income minority communities. When forced to voice out their lives, we see how riddled their lives are with emotional abuse and poverty. If an adolescent grows up in an atmosphere that demeans their self-respect and motivation, corrodes their perception of the world, and demoralizes their spirit, why would they care about a homework in class? The bigger problem is getting one meal a day and escaping a beating from their step parent. These students put up vile defenses to guard off their inner insecurities and vulnerabilities. Their defenses cannot be broken down through meaningless punishments. Teachers like Miss. Johnson turn their world over by first offering them emotional support. It's miraculous how people turn over a new leaf, if given the right encouragement, acceptance and trust.

The stories are full of hopeful, sagacious and inspirational techniques. The most crucial trait that sets teachers like Miss. Johnson apart, are their abilities to adapt and innovate. If one technique of reinforcement doesn't work, they try another, and another, until they get through to the students. They never give up, nor do they keep butting against a dead end. They have the right knowledge of psychology to apply them at the right instances. In the journey, they erase the line between them and the students, get accepted as one among them, while still commanding respect and admiration. They realize that forging such a bond of trust and acceptance is a culmination of plenty of tiny steps, and they patiently work on their steps like dribbles of water trying to erode a stone. Tagore says, "Not hammer-strokes, but dance of the water, sings the pebbles into perfection."

But not every story is a success. She relates her experiences of students with whom she could never reach through. The bitter truth dawns - we can't help somebody who does not want to be helped. No matter how far we reach out into the waters, we can't pull someone out unless they try to hold onto our hand. Parents and guardians also play a significant role. Without any cooperation from them, some students continue to deteriorate. Despite such emotionally draining experiences, Miss. Johnson has still not given up. She continues to help hundreds of kids make a decent life. I truly envy such a satisfying profession, wherein one can retire to bed with the contentment of having touched someone in a significantly meaningful way.
In Miss. Johnson's words, "For every student who slips through the cracks, a dozen or two dozen step over the cracks and walk out of high school with a diploma in one hand and a dream in the other. It's these kids - the ones you don't read about in the newspapers because good news doesn't sell - who keep me coming back every year to my lopsided wooden desk, my crumbling bulletin boards, my outdated textbooks, and my own handful of dreams."
My lofty (and often scoffed at) ambition is to be able to do something as constructive with my life and career. Stories such as these galvanize and encourage it further.

Through the book, she also highlights the discrimination, unnecessary politics, power play and stagnant policies present in schools. Constrained by rules, policies and skeptic higher authorities, she has to fight many battles for her students. Each battle reiterates her commitment towards her students. As a former journalist and an English teacher, Miss. Johnson's writing is impeccable. Her words are touched with humor and insight. Her frustrations are palpable. Her genuine care and persistent dedication to help students advance in their courses, and in their lives, make us reminisce on our favorite teachers who made a difference to our lives.

Reflections: Play Therapy

A few months back I read the deeply moving book - Dibs In Search of Self; a true story of an emotionally withdrawn, socially maladjusted boy, who after being rejected and ruled off as mentally deficient, recovered himself with the help of Play Therapy. Play Therapy is the pioneering work of Dr. Virginia Axline, a developmental psychologist. Dibs' story was not geared towards an academic (or uber-curious) audience, and consequently, there was very little elaboration on the principles behind Play Therapy and the reasons for its purported success. It seemed miraculous that a young boy such as Dibs, who was already pained with so many emotional problems, could learn to accept and take responsibility of himself and his life through a seemingly "simple" string of therapeutic encounters, which enabled him to vent and express himself through his most convenient medium of expression - play. Hence I had earmarked to read Dr. Axline's seminal book on Play Therapy to understand its roots, and I'm glad I took the effort to read this book. It has convincingly answered my questions and has turned me over into a fervent believer of this therapeutic principle.

Dr. Axline has comprehensively explored the principles of Play Therapy, shedding ample light on its theoretical foundations. She also details the explicit roles and attitude that the therapist/teacher needs to take, provides recommendations on how to set up a playroom and the kinds and range of toys that would afford the suitable medium of play. Finally, she has included an array of case studies with annotated notes on important turning points, explanations and critiques on the therapists' responses and insights on the child's verbalization, all of which cohesively come together to offer a holistic understanding of the therapeutic principles and procedures. What impressed me is Dr. Axline's open-minded discussion. She doesn't thrust, tout or campaign for this therapy. She discuses limitations, addresses concerns and questions that the reader would have, in an unbiased manner. Her annotated notes on archived case studies were extremely helpful in distinguishing which aspects were poorly handled by the therapist and which responses were aptly handled and why. The book includes over 10 case studies, each of which focuses on a unique challenge with a child. The successful cases reinstate the import and potential of Play Therapy.

The Principle
Adults make sense of their world by writing, talking, communicating. We verbalize our thoughts to express ourselves. Children are not linguistically mature enough to do this. But their behavior is a transparent expression of themselves. And a natural medium such as playing, gives them a channel to express themselves. At its core, Play Therapy is based on the principle of Non-Directive Therapy. The therapist does not attempt to lead the child, the child leads the therapist. The therapist does not correct, encourage, persuade, discipline, probe, question, or instruct the child. She attempts to provide a neutral atmosphere, wherein the child is accepted as s/he is. This is the most crucial cornerstone of this therapy. However, this doesn't imply that the therapist plays a passive role. She plays a very active role and participates in the child's dialogue and play, but doesn't direct the child in any way. If the child exhibits aggressive behavior and thrashes a doll, yells, swears, rolls on the ground, splashes paint or water, the therapist does not try to reprimand or discipline. Neither should she compliment and encourage a child if s/he painted a wonderful picture. This seems absolutely contradictory to what we are used to. So what does the therapist do? She lets the child vent out his/her emotions without attempting to stop the flow. The therapist's most important role is to reflect each of these emotions back to the child. If the child says, "I want to kill my dad", the therapist reflects the emotion back to the child, "You are angry with your dad that you want to kill him". Beneath every surface-level aggressive and "inappropriate" behavior lies deeper problems. It's incredulous, but such honest reflection of the child's emotions and feelings, and an open acceptance of the child, go a long way in helping the child excavate deeper problems, such that s/he trusts the therapist enough to share/verbalize them. This same child, after venting his surface emotions, ventures to say, "I don't really mean to kill him. But he is just so mean to me. I wish he comes to see me sometime." I am not making this up. Case after case discussed in this book teems with such revelations.

Children who are sent to therapy are not meant to be "fixed". The goal is not to change them, or discipline them. The goal is to comprehend what their inner turmoil is, and let the child face his problems and accept them. It might seem miraculous and impossible that a child can accept his problems just by confronting them through the therapists' reflections of his behavior. But it has been shown to work. And there are plenty of reasons why it works.

1. Each of us have the urge for self-realization within us. There is a force within us trying to understand ourselves and the world around us better and struggles to adapt to it. It's the simple law of nature. Growing children have this spurt of curiosity and resilience to survive that is much vigorous in spirit. It wants to learn, to grow and adapt. Play therapy is one medium that gives the spirit free rein to be expressed, without being constrained by rules.
2. Young children require very little out of life. They want love, warmth and acceptance. No fight is taken seriously, no word is uttered to intentionally hurt, and no thoughts harbor any ill towards anyone. They are at a stage where they are innocent and forgiving, if given a chance. When they are accepted completely for who they are, their defenses break and they truly confront their emotions. Once they deal with their emotions, the release helps them move on.
3. Acceptance and approval are not the same. A child who says he wants to kill, is not approved or encouraged, but is merely accepted, despite the statement. There is an ocean of a difference between the two. A disturbed and traumatized child does not come to therapy to be disciplined and questioned. The therapist first needs to establish a bond with the child, without emotional attachment. When do we bond with friends? When we are accepted non-judgmentally. Whom are we willing to share our problems with? A person who listens and lets us express ourselves. When do we withdraw into our shells? When we are not given the respect and consideration to make our choices and are constantly told what to do. Don't these translate to children as well? They very well do.
4. In the heat of an argument we utter many things and teeter on the verge of violence. But if those emotions and sentences are reflected to us and when the heat cools off, do we really mean those words? Our problems were deeper. But confronting our every own strong emotions, shocks us and it helps us introspect. Children are capable of this too. The time it takes and the means through which they understand about themselves is different. The fundamental problem is the adult's skepticism that children are capable of accepting and dealing with their problems. They do. The book shows numerous real-life examples. It is vital that we have faith in them.
   

Does this mean children should never be given any positive reinforcement and should never be disciplined? No. It only means that every once in a while, it pays to let the child explore himself without violations. It will help the parent/teacher learn more about the child, and the child will learn more about himself, if his emotions are deftly reflected to him. It is also unrealistic for a parent or anyone who is emotionally attached to the child to play the role of a therapist and bring in an unbiased exocentric view of the child's problems. A parent who hears her child's open confessions cannot deal with them objectively. It is also shown to lead to devastating consequences if the therapist emotionally bonds, supports and reassures the child. It is common for an emotionally deprived child to get emotionally dependent on the therapist. And it's quite natural and humane for a therapist to want to reciprocate. But the harsh truth is that when the child says, "Take me home with you, you said you love me", the therapist cannot fulfill the child's requests. In a sense she fails to live up to her promises to the child and the child is severely hurt yet again, and it opens a can of complications when it comes to severing this dependence. Such a therapy is futile. Children who are abandoned and who switch between foster homes have a bleak reality to face. The objective is to help them face, accept and adapt to their circumstances. The therapy teaches them to be independent and to be socially adaptive survivors. It instills responsibility in the child by providing confidence in his abilities and respect for him as an individual.

There are limitations to this therapy - the question of when to end therapy, and how to help children sustain their understanding of themselves, remain primary concerns. But there is no doubt that this technique holds immense potential to help children. The case studies are so heart-wrenching that I couldn't hold back my tears while reading. But each case history also carries with it immense hope for all the millions of unfortunate children the world over. It is a cry of hope for our future.

Dr. Axline's writing is empathetic, perceptive and beautiful, heightening the impact of this book. I know I haven't done justice in articulating my thoughts on this book and this therapeutic principle, but I can't emphasize enough how valuable this book is for parents and teachers.

Significantly Tiny

Ian's ambition was to build the Total Perspective Vortex. The machine was once an artifact of science fiction, but Ian had toiled to make it a reality. Whoever entered into the vortex could see their true place in the Universe. In science fiction, this piece of truth was so debilitating to humans who realized that their existence was so insignificant in the grand scheme of things, that it crushed their very soul. But Ian being an intelligent scientist, had tweaked the machine such that everyone would see the same thing, reasoning that all of us human mortals are insignificant to the approximate degree. He was also convincing himself that contrary to the science fiction, he would be strong enough to face the truth and not let it crush his soul. Yet, as he stood in front of it to test it out, his trepidations started gnawing him again. Would he be able to face such a shattering truth, even he, who was intelligent enough to build such a powerful and perceptive machine? (Original Source: The Restaurant at the End of the Universe, by Douglas Adams)

Those familiar with "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" must be able to identify this machine, and the courageous character who survived this machine, claiming that he was shown to be a "terrific and great guy". We can always interpret his response in two ways - he was either quite strong to face the truth, or his ego was so bloated and his perception of truth scaled in proportion to the Universe, that he was happy that he could place himself, however infinitesimally, in the huge Universe, whereas a little ant could have probably not even found his tiny dot.

The most interesting question here is - How significant should something be, for it to be significant. When I write down significance so many times, the first thing that I am reminded of is statistical significance. A man-made cut off of 0.05 is really more arbitrary than statisticians would want us to believe. Although, I now have a genial Advanced Statistics Prof, who laughs off saying he no longer believes in empiricism and experiments, for even if your experiments yield nice p values, there is something called as Type 1 Error, according to which 5 % of all published experiments could be false. An extreme view, one might think. But there is a lot of truth to it. We are all aware of how easy it is to toss away the results of a Control as being insignificant when it inches to 0.06, and how we celebrate the results of the Treatment that just about stops at 0.051. Papers are still written and accepted with such marginal significance and insignificance, and hypotheses and speculations fly high. Ah, there is replication validity, some might say. But how many complex experiments are replicated? And how many "simple" experiments are replicated more than a 100 times to catch those stray 5 false positives. Truth is arbitrary, and it is manipulated by significance.

The next interesting question is - Why would a man be so crushed to see the truth of his insignificance? Our lives propel due to us attributing meaning, purpose and significance to everything that happens to us. If someone were to tell a toiling student that his efforts, his aim for success and his life are tinier than a piece of grain in the grand scheme of things, he would lose his mind and his sense of identity. It's crippling to face the truth that our lives are meaningless and our pains and angst are worth a naught. If motivation, purpose and meaning are removed from our lives, it becomes nothing. Existentialists argue that we need to therefore create meaning and purpose for ourselves to combat this feeling of lack of purpose. Associating causality is part of human nature, else he wouldn't have survived.

So the next pivotal question is - How significant should our lives be, for us to find purpose and meaning? If significance is arbitrary and subjective, it follows that it has its own scale of measurement. A doctor who witnesses a woman in labor finds hardly any significance to the whole episode. But to the woman, it is one of the most significant moments of her life. The scale of such qualitative impressions are markedly different from person to person. If one were to step into the machine and see that his life is as big as the tiniest meteor in the galaxy, it still doesn't say anything! Size can be no valid scale! We have teeny tiny deadly viruses who can significantly wipe out human existence! If we believe that every little speck of dust on the Universe plays its role in the shaping of the Universe, then each of us have our own tiny significance. And that's exactly what Beeblebrox from the science fiction, perceives. Our minuscule significance is notable, considering our limitations and the expanse of the Universe.

At this point, there are serious questions on whether such a machine can even be built. What can it be its measurements to come up with the value of significance. Significance is a proportion, something that can exist only in comparison to something else. A virus's significance to Earth may be very high, but its significance to other planets may be very low.

But the aim of the Total Perspective Vortex is to instill a sense of humility in all of us. It helps us reevaluate our values, our priorities and the way we conduct ourselves in relation to others in the Universe. Even though what matters is each of our perceptions of significance and meaning, it is a worthy exercise to be made aware that everything and everyone around us are equally significant in their own little ways. Every time we feel the burden of our life weighing on our shoulders, it helps to reflect on our real place in the grand scheme of things.

Reflections: The Picture of Dorian Gray

Everybody is likely to be proud and content of at least one of their attributes... and possibly worried of losing it someday. I for one used to be quite happy with my memory. It served me well for a little more than two decades of my life and I basked in the glowering warmth of those who dearly wished I would forget a few things. Perhaps I incurred far too many curses, for now my ability to retain much in my memory has been rapidly dwindling, causing me to resort to reminders for reminders. As I have rattled on previously, one's memory is far too precious in defining one's identity. My recent fear is me waking up in another twenty years (if at all) and wondering who I am. With such a strained panic, if some wizard were to materialize in front of me and ask me if I would make a trade to gain an expansive photographic memory which would be in tact no matter how old I aged, wouldn't I love to jump at the offer? Absolutely. But that's what nerds like me ask for...memory. If a vain teenager were asked this question, what do you think she would like to retain no matter how old she became? Wrinkle free-skin, luscious hair, a perky body. Beauty. Youth. To many, beauty and youth are the definitions of their identity... things that they cling onto with a crazed unimaginable fear of losing themselves one day. So, what if such a wish did come true? Would she have the world under her feet? Would she be the luckiest person in the world? Would she be comfortable with such vanity and superficiality and not let them taint her conscience?

The Picture of Dorian Gray is an incredibly interesting psychological experiment on the depths of human vanity. Oscar Wilde deftly explores how we define morality and conscience and what shape we give to our soul. Dorian Gray is an extremely handsome man with perfectly chiseled features. He inspires a painter to give life to his beauty through an exquisite portrait. Just as how Eve was hypnotically deceived and "poisoned" by the snake, Dorian's mind falls into a trance due to a cunning influence of a friend, and in a moment of frenzy he makes a feverish wish to give anything to preserve his beauty, while the lifeless portrait of him would instead bear the signs of his old age. And the wish comes true.

I received this book as part of a surprise parcel from my exceptionally generous and sweet friend, who just woke up one morning and decided to send me gifts! I really am lucky to have such friends! And being the mind reader that she is, all the books she sent completely appeal to me! And this book hit the bull's eye.

All our scriptures insist that any pursuit for the satisfaction of the senses leads us to misery. But an accompanying view is that human beings live on instincts. Our ancestors survived because they heedlessly acted on their senses. It seems to be discordant with our nature to rebel against our instincts, to suppress them and contrive the necessity to act rationally and in concert with what we have been taught as good and virtuous. Dorian Gray represents a man who was convinced that man achieves his highest sense of purpose and integrity, if and only if, he were to focus on pleasuring his senses, with very little thought or suppression. He turns into someone who awakens the "evil Mr.Hyde" from within him, and feeds him with his vanity, materialism and callousness. The pleasure of sadism corrupts him. But something in him that represents him, deteriorates due to this hedonistic life. With every sin, every materialistic hoarding, his portrait turned ugly, evil and aged. The horrific transformation that Dorian could witness is shown as a metaphor, mirroring the deterioration of his soul. As much as Dorian derives pleasure from its atrophy, he couldn't completely be blind to it. Wilde hints at how our conscience, even if it be made separate from our body, cannot be ignored. It is sure to haunt us, no matter how much we isolate ourselves from it.

This, in essence, was Wilde's take on the philosophy of morality. Man's implicit conscience defines morality for him, no matter what religion, or era. Sins need not be categorized as applicable to the Victorian era, or the present era; the conscience always knows. As natural as it might sound to always act in tune with our senses, if the mind is totally cut off, our acts and decisions tend to run out of hand, and place us in scenarios wherein our senses can no longer help us, or benefit in any way. In a philosophical sense, Wilde seems to start with the hypothesis that the mind and the body need to be separate, but he crafts a clever tale to convincingly disprove the hypothesis, asserting that the mind (the soul/the conscience) and the body need to harmonize with one another. He also burrows into the ways and means through which man defines and values his identity. In reality, one's identity is deeper than what the body embodies. Personality is the result of the orchestration of many subtle factors emanating from our consciousness and self-awareness. It is difficult to give form, shape or color to them. But that is what Art tries to capture. A good artist is one who is perceptive to see through such ethereal aspects and is creative and imaginative to represent them through a physical, abstract artifact. In the context of such a discussion, Wilde also explores the meaning of Art and the role of an artist in capturing the abstract from a concrete physical form. Does Art mirror the artist or the inspiration? Or does it instead obscure the artist? What does Art truly represent? Or what should Art truly represent?

As dark and brooding as the book might appear, Wilde's masterful and contemplative writing is a treat. Despite the tragedies, the cynicism and the pessimism, the book encodes hope and optimism for humanity.

Reflections: Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors

Who are we? Where did we come from? If each of us were to draw our genealogy map, most cannot list anyone beyond the last three generations. There are many of us who have hardly heard, leave alone seen, our great grandparents. With the floodgates of genetic research flung wide open, how priceless would it be to unearth the histories of our ancestors to better understand ourselves and those around us. We might finally understand why we are the way we are, and hopefully find some wisdom to project a better path for the future - for the benefit of us, humanity and the whole planet.

After many discussions on several topics that are weaved into this book, I received the book as a New Year's gift from my dear friend. It's wonderful that my New Year started with such an excellent gift. It has helped me answer questions that I have battled with for a while and has opened my mind to interesting vistas sure to help me sort out many of my future doubts. Carl Sagan and Ann Druyan have put together the story of humanity - right from the formation of the planet from mere star dusts, to the evolution of the most complex species, some blessed with enough intelligence to trace their histories. It's a story about how there came to be a structure in the midst of random chaos, how an impeccable ecosystem was established to sustain a cycle of energy, and how mere cell reproduction was perfected with Nature's laws of survival to bring about selective multiplication of the fittest of species. Well, we all are aware of evolution. Is that all this book talks about? Yes and No. It's about evolution, but from a perspective we have probably never considered before. It not just asserts that we come from animals, but tries to bridge the gap between the two of us, explaining how the very "animal" instincts that we now denigrate actually helped the survival of our ancestors, and our nature and personalities are shaped by them. The objectivity of the discussion helps us view animals and us in a much clear light to contrast the differences and the similarities, while trying to answer the question - what makes us humans? How are we different?

There are just far too many things that are interesting in the book, that left with enough time and a patient audience I would likely ardently discuss every page and paragraph. But to save our sanity, I have picked some excellent themes that were explored-

Altruism or Selfish Genes
Those who have been victims of my past discussions on this topic will thank their stars with this revelation of mine - my confusions have been finally resolved. Every act of ours has a layer of selfishness behind it. But being selfish isn't bad. It is one of the reasons why we exist today. But like many out there, I could never reconcile with the argument that even a man who sacrifices his life to save the lives of those who aren't even his kins, can have any trace of selfishness tainting his motive. After all isn't survival the key instinct? How can there be any selfishness in choosing to not survive, just to help the survival of others? Ah, the answer lies embedded in that exclaim - it is indeed to help the survival of others, the species. If some thousands of our ancestors hadn't chosen to sacrifice themselves to save their species, there would have been no human race. As much as it is embedded in our genes to survive and procreate to keep our race thriving, by the same logic our instincts are wired to sacrifice ourselves to save our species (escalating from our family, our community, our nation, our planet, our species), if their survival were threatened. The utilitarian logic of saving millions at the cost of one/some, stems from our selfish genes. Not convincing enough? Well, there are evidences of monkeys, bees and even ants, assumed to be automatons that lack emotion, logic or intelligence, demonstrating such brave altruistic acts. Is this unvalidated research? Nope, scientists still assert this, as is evident from this new article. And adding the cherry atop the icing, here is another reason to bolster this. Most animals, especially those living in colonies and communities, such as ants, bees, monkeys and even us (after all, haven't read time and again that "Main is a social animal"?), can only exist in a society that maintains a symbiotic relationship - it reduces to basic economics. We cannot survive without our group. That's man's greatest threat to survival. Therefore, it is indeed in his long term best interests that he cares for and tries to protect his social circle. Those who are short sighted and who have started disconnecting themselves from this instinct, restrict their filed of concern to themselves, sometimes their own family, while some still see far enough to want to protect whales and tigers.

Cultural Diversity and Natural Selection
I have been harping on world peace, the unity of humanity, with the dream of the whole world living as one big happy family. And this is the first time, I have relinquished such a dream - not out of resignation or pessimism, but I finally comprehend the design behind diversity and isolation of pockets of communities. This is because, the more diverse the cultures, the more diverse the gene pools, which means the more chance of survival. If a certain genetic trait is lost due to our unanimity, how would we survive a certain deadly virus that is immune and can be cured only with the lost gene sequence? Humanity would be at the brink of extinction. Kind of why inbreeding is dangerous and therefore repulsive. Our world will essentially be one happy family with minimal variations in gene sequences. Precisely why our ancestors lived in communities, and why there continues to be hostility on some level when it comes to complete genetic intermingling. It finally makes some iota of sense as to why inter-racial marriages are still regarded with such intense revulsion. But of course, there HAS to be some amount of genetic mixing between clans/races, otherwise it leads us back to a similar problem - homogeneity of genes within communities. No surprise that even female monkeys invariably get attracted to males from another clan, while facing stiff resistance from many monkeys from either clans. It is amazing that this balance that impels some genetic mixing and some genetic preservation has lasted so many billions of years. I finally face reality - and this what the book gives us in liberal doses. I concede that the world cannot and should never be just one big happy family. Diversity is valuable to us, not homogeneity.

Definition of Humanity
So what makes us humans? What makes us so special, gives us the right to control, dominate, pollute, and head on a path to bring eventual destruction to ourselves? Is it our ability to think, to reason, to speak, to feel, to create and appreciate art and music, to exhibit a culture, to be in a monogamous relationship, to create and use sophisticated tools, to put together codes of religion and morality and to philosophize about our souls? Sadly, no. Discussions about chimpanzees, baboons, bonobos, bees, ants, sparrows and a host of such varied animals provide evidence that many animals display such characteristics, although the scale of their abilities is still not comparable to us. I like how the book emphasizes that these animals differ from us not in kind, but only in the ways. Baboons and most birds mate for life. Baboons and birds are capable of expressing talent and appreciation for music. Most animals are capable of showing affection, emotion, caring for their group, they are capable enough to establish their own chain of social hierarchy, their own methods of hunting, and even mold their own tools. It has been proved that even an accomplished scientist, after spending several hours with a friendly chimpanzee, can still not learn the seemingly "simple" skill of the chimpanzees to shape a twig, insert it into a termites' hole, manage to get some termites on the twig, extricate it carefully from the narrow hole and eat the little treats sitting on it. Well, can chimpanzees catch a fish like us? No... but just not yet. Macaque monkeys have exhibited high standards of morality, by choosing to rather starve than try to reach for their food that was hooked to an electric switch administering a shock to another macaque monkey, every time the food was touched. Seeing the other monkey flinch, the other stopped trying to reach for the food. And macaque monkeys show this trait despite not being taught the virtues of altruism, or about God or morality.

But would every human be as considerate as "low-level" creatures such as the monkeys and ants, to sacrifice ourselves for our group? No. Do animals engage in violence for the sake of greed? No. Do they try to kill or attack unless there is a need. No. Do animals execute calculated murder? No. And what about us humans? Having all 6 senses we don't bother about the planet, we don't hesitate to eradicate communities for industrialization and choose to rationalize all our acts and stay blind to morality. As I have ranted previously, we humans have lost in touch with Nature's ways, that many instincts that are wired in all other animals have faded in us.

How free is our will?
Centering around this, the authors tie in a brilliant discussion on free will. If we are to disrupt the social structure of animals, and for experimental purposes, we artificially create a society with 10 extremely aggressive males and 2 females, will such a society survive? No. As was the pitiable catastrophe that ensued when scientists unwittingly put in a mismatched group of baboons in the same cage. There was anarchy and violence, for Nature never creates or encourages a group in which there can be so many "leaders" or alpha males. And leaving just 2 females for so many alphas, just did not agree with the animals' natures. Can we blame the animals or their nature for the violence, killing and bloodshed? Does it make sense to talk about the baboons' free will? The experiment is an example of how each species has it's own set of core natures which cannot be shaken off. If social engineering is poorly and artificially designed, it will result in mayhem, and there is very little relevance to free will. Humans need to be wary of their limitations as well. Our reason hasn't evolved enough for us to cast away all concerns of upsetting our social and ecological balance. Our survival hangs on the balance that we take for granted. It's not about our free will to do what we want and argue that reason and intelligence will help us sustain. We are not omnipotent.

That was my major take-away from the book. Understanding our ancestors is the first step towards truly understanding us - acknowledging our limitations and staying within their boundaries, realizing which vestigial instincts we need to shed off, for although they might have been beneficial to our ancestors, they no longer apply to our phase of existence, and how to truly extend our potentials and "special" adaptive features of intelligence and reason to grow, and evolve our future generations into much sophisticated creatures. Sadly, the current trend seems to be a horrific regression.

My thoughts would be incomplete without the authors' articulate and wise words:
"We achieve some measure of adulthood when we recognize our parents as they really were, without sentimentalizing or mythologizing, but also without blaming them unfairly of our imperfections. Maturity entails a readiness, painful and wrenching though it may be, to look squarely into the long dark spaces, into the fearsome shadows. In this act of ancestral remembrance and acceptance may be found a light by which to see our children safely home."

Unnatural Resistance

How vividly I remember those fragile tiny fingers, twining and wrapping themselves in their cushy blob of a palm. I inched my finger close to his, fascinated on how huge my Tarzan like nails and fingers seemed next to his delicate wisps of nails. I could easily spend the afternoon squeezing myself near his bed, transfixed at his peaceful and cherubic face, even as a tinge of jealously would pass through me; a wistful wish to blissfully sleep like him, lulled by the soft rhythm of the ceiling fan, and the cool puffs of the afternoon breeze. For the longest time I never thought he would grow to be bigger and taller than me. It never occurred to me that one day I would no longer be able to play with his ears, tugging and bending those supple and soft ligaments like a piece of dough, as he concentrated on taking his toy apart.

Soon I was helping with his alphabets, then assuaging his fears and disappointments at losing his "lives" in video games, and then... I seem to have lost track of time and events, transported to some world where time coagulated just around me. Today he stands towering over me sporting a trendy chin strap, his eyes holding a curious mix of childlike mischief and amusement when I get mistaken for his younger sister. Somewhere down the road, I stopped growing and the tiny little being rapidly grew and transformed into this young man who now seems like a stranger from another planet, when all I know is he isn't that baby I wanted to bundle in my arms.

Starting from tiny seeds blooming into dainty flowers to my strapping cousin, the miracle of life and growth never ceases to amaze me. Almost like a child giggling over how the moon zooms and runs along with her, not caring to understand that the moon stays put while she chases after it, I seem to have frozen in this notion that everyone around me continues to grow, while I remain being the same silly and confused girl. How cliched, you might say. And I agree. But when I see those around me bringing in their own little bundles of joy, it hits me hard, to the point of being disconcerted, uneasy and queer. When did they grow up? When did I grow up? Will I ever feel grown up? When my heart thuds as I enter a dark room, I wonder if I will ever be able to snuggle and comfort a little being someday when the lights go off. What measures are there to qualify us as having grown and being responsible enough to facilitate the growth and well-being of another life? None.

Such instincts have been wired in us, many say. Scientists have given me plenty of comforting proof that even a docile little bird can hammer her beak off if her nest were threatened. Chimp mothers face unthinkable tortures and put up brave fights just to safeguard their babies from being eaten by other chimp males. Just as I am counting my blessings for living my life in this pampered age, why do I see ignorant human mothers starving and neglecting their young? Isn't something terribly amiss? I thought these were the kinds of species and genes that were weeded out by natural selection a million years back. Or have we humans isolated ourselves so much from Nature's fundamental traits, with technology having insulated us from the wrath of natural selection, that we are now reduced to materialistic automatons who no longer identify with Nature, and are programed with the only objective of conquering academic and career goals?

Perhaps we are now at an evolutionary phase where nurturing is no longer just an instinct. Just as how everything now comes bubble wrapped with an instruction kit, nurturing and parenting have now become a science - to be meticulously imbibed through books and kits and games teeming aplenty. No, I am not sarcastic or resentful. I'm grateful. But I can't help being aghast and resentful at those who stay blind to every modicum of help and guidance showered their way, quoting their ignorance and discomfort at handling the angst and pains involved. My grandma often used to wisely remind us kids every time we flinched on getting hurt - "Females are born to go through pain. Grit your teeth and learn to bear it". In a world of hassle-free root canals and pills for everything, why are we still complaining? Where is this line of "evolution", which seems to resist the idea of going through any pain for one's child, leading us to?

The Green Conundrum

The Greens faced a predicament. Their country farmhouse served as their home and as their business quarters. While their business was generating a good revenue, the heavy machines used on the site were causing serious damage to the foundation of the farmhouse, threatening to bring down the house in about five years. Unfortunately the profit reaped from the business wasn't sufficient to help the Greens find a new place or remedy the structural damages to the house. But the Greens were firm on preserving the house for their posterity and so slowed down the production machinery, thus decreasing their revenue. A decade later, when Mr. and Mrs. Greens had passed on, their children inherited the farmhouse which was in a state of near dilapidation. The children grimly realized that it would take hundreds of thousands of dollars to renovate the house. But the irony was, since the Greens had slowed down production and slimmed down their profits, the children hadn't inherited enough money to take care of the damages. If the Greens had indeed carried on production, not being so concerned with the short-term consequences, they might have left enough money for the children to resurrect the house. What went wrong with the Greens' intention to save the house? How did their concern and consideration turn impractical and result in the house being irrevocably damaged? (Original Source: The Skeptical Environmentalist, by Bjorn Lomborg)

This is an analogy on the current debate on environmental conservation and protection. Obviously the Greens did not make a practical and rational decision when they cut down on their profits while not taking any steps to remedy the house, or find a new place. Their decision was not just short-sighted but their priorities were mismatched, and they were not proactive enough to find a solution to the problem. They just seemed to delay the inevitable and deemed it as the best "solution". But when we draw parallels between this scenario to our problem of a world being depleted of environmental resources, and damaged due to our plundering, our option to consider relocating to another "home" is not as simple. While great minds like Stephen Hawking have been stressing on such endeavors, there are far too many challenges involved. With the effects of environment abuse unveiling itself and intensifying with every passing year, we seem to have an even more pressing need to find a "solution" to mitigate the damages early.

The skepticism in the excerpt is - if our industrialization and production is cut down to an unrealistic scale in an attempt to restrict the damage, it isn't a solution. It merely prolongs an inevitable disaster. Wouldn't it be better to be equipped with the technology and economic means to deal with the problem when it strikes, rather than not have the means to deal with the problem, with merely the consolation that it manifested a few years later? Theoretically, the argument seems to be logical. But finding a place/planet that is conducive to human habitation is far more complex than just involving money or technological growth. We don't have the liberty that the Greens had in being assured that there would always be another home, however modest in comparison to the existing home, that will help them survive. It doesn't sound logical to continue amassing profit and technology when none of them are assured of helping us find a solution. Until such a time, it makes sense to be overly cautious to conserve and preserve our planet. And it seems mind-bogglingly shocking to me that we can be so complacent about restarting or simulating our complex ecosystem in another planet - down to the life sustaining microbes. We have absolutely no idea if we humans can indeed survive in a different ecosystem. What makes us take this current planet for granted - a result of billions of years of meticulous and intricate evolution.

Besides, without even going into the specifics of the Kyoto protocol or the recent Copenhagen Summit, or the many controversies circling around claiming that Global warming is an unproven scientific falsity, I stress that it is every individual's social responsibility to treat their home with consideration. It doesn't seem unrealistic to me to insist that we don't litter our own home and not pay heed to many of our inconsiderate behaviors which can be rectified with simple steps. Monitoring the callous ways in which I was living, I was shocked that I spent so many plastic water bottles, containers and money only because I was forgetful or lazy to carry water and reuse a bottles. This in fact reduces my cost of buying plastic, which forms a significant component of trash, even per person. Similarly, how is at an increase in cost if I put in more effort to not use the drier and use a clothes line, at least during summer? Not using the drier for three whole months was a tremendous conservation of electricity and it brought down my bill significantly. Never before have I noticed how many plastic cups, plates and cutlery get trashed every time there is a small get-together amongst friends. A fun weekend dinner does not require so much waste. If we looked beyond the short-term discomfort of washing dishes (which anyway get dumped into a dishwasher or handed over to a domestic help), it is an economical benefit for us. Of course, using the dishwasher is also incurring excessive water wastage, but if one has to trade off their options due to practical challenges in dealing with our time pressured lives, then a thoughtful trade off is better than indulging in thoughtless and inconsiderate behavior. For months now, my dear friend has been tirelessly campaigning about waste-management, which will also promise a good organic garden. But the lukewarm responses suggest that people would rather invest a lot of money in buying fertilizer sacks than deal with collecting waste and popping in earthworms, which hardly require much effort (aside the ickiness associated with earthworms ;)). Such inertia to put in some labor and effort is what is saddening. Similarly, if one were to take account of the number of pages of paper that get printed out per useless meeting, per office/school, when everything is electronic, and if we were to notice how carelessly they get strewn in every other bin except the recycle bin, such carelessness is appalling. Contrary to the excerpt's claim, many of our compromises involve effort and consideration - not money and impediment of growth. If we looked beyond comfort, we can do much more.

Conservation of resources is a good practice regardless of any selfish motives. One doesn't have to go on crazy marine expeditions to stop whale hunting to demonstrate their commitment to preserving the ecosystem and the environment. There are plenty of little things we can do, each in our own seemingly little ways, to be considerate to our habitat. Paying attention to what we throw in the trash and how we use natural resources will surely provide ample opportunities to remedy our ways. It doesn't necessitate frugal living, as is commonly misunderstood. It only requires living thoughtfully in communion with Nature, showing her the consideration she deserves. But these steps alone are not going to be enough, and investment in research to explore other habitable planets is surely a long-term practical solution, which I don't think will be hampered due to us being minimal in our use of non-biodegradable substances.

Reflections: The Palace of Illusions

Each of our realities lies tacit and veiled within our perceptions. Truth and the objectiveness of reality will continue to be an elusive subject of much discussion for philosophers. Almost all of us continue to go through experiences in life wherein each involved member of the experience holds onto their version of reality - that which is bound to be qualitatively different in subtle ways from the others' perceptions. Someone always has their point of view, which try as they might, cannot be translated to others, leaving each person to go through their own emotions and interpretations of the experience. I often wish that I video-tape most of my interactions with people, just so I could go back to the scene and watch it as it transpired so that everyone involved will have a better sense of reality than our imagined versions. Even so, the lenses through which we view such a video will be tainted with our perceptions, our expectations and insecurities. The mind is apt to play such tricks... completing sentences that were never uttered, giving life to insecure emotions, reading between the lines and ending up with a convoluted mess of misinterpretations which we will steadfastly cling onto as being the actuality of the episode. Such differences in thinking and perception are mostly attributed to gender differences. Much has been written and researched about how men and women are differently wired. It's a fact that a man and a woman who witness the very same scene will notice things differently, perceive different kinds of aspects, thus affecting the overall interpretation. If that's the case with mundane events in life, how interesting would it be to read a woman's perspective on a historic epic?

Several authors and poets have delved into the nuances of Mahabharata - concentrating on its myriad stories, the discussion of Dharma, the beauty of the literature, and in-depth character analysis. But it takes the epic to another level when we witness the events through the eyes of a woman - and not just any woman, but one of the stars of the epic - Draupadi herself. Divakaruni demonstrates a lot of creativity by identifying with the true spirit of a woman as strong and resilient as Draupadi. She narrates the epic tale taking the voice of Draupadi, bringing to light aspects of the tale that have never been considered before - a woman's emotions, the dynamics of her various relationships and the roles she plays in realizing the inevitable fate of thousands of people.

I was a little apprehensive and skeptical about this book, for it's easy to get carried away and sensationalize the story, and perhaps even introduce irksome controversies in the name of wielding one's creative license. But the most commendable aspect is that the author does a wonderful job of drawing her creative interpretations within the line of the actual tale. Her research and facts are sound and her take on Draupadi's thoughts and emotions resonate well with us. Draupadi is crafted as a strong-willed rebel, a feminist of her era and an intelligent woman weighed down by her rage and vengeance. The reader sees her grow and evolve, both through her thoughts and actions, that she gets transformed into a realistic character.

Divakaruni also focuses on the ravages of the war. Instead of glorifying the war or the victory of the Pandavas, through Draupadi, she brings out the horrendous aftermath of war, teasing the discussion of who really won, and what the true meaning of victory is. She shows Draupadi's pain and regret, her disappointment at how everybody was fueled by their fire of revenge, intensified by their ego, and blinded by their anger and desire. The manner in which Dharma became a loose term, only to be manipulated and rationalized by both teams towards their gains, is stressed and highlighted, despite it not being discussed in depth. It was heartening that Divakaruni chose to dwell on such aspects of the war, making the reader introspect on how such a war could have possibly been evaded and how each character was caught in his/her own web of revenge and ego. It's an irony that such a great battle to uphold Dharma reduces to mindless revenge and ego.

The one surprising thread in the book is Divakaruni's conception of a strong attraction between Draupadi and Karna. I have heard of Karna's possible attraction to Draupadi, but never before have I come across Draupadi's undying fascination with Karna, tinged with regret and wistful imagination of how her life would have been had she married him. I can see how this interpretation is sure to ruffle a few feathers, for Draupadi is worshiped as a Pativrita. But for me it added an interesting dimension to the tale.

Divakaruni's writing is lucid and beautiful. Some of her metaphors are not as put together as I would have wished, but in all, her writing flows well. The book attempts to recreate the "reality" of the Mahabharata as experienced by a woman, enhancing our comprehension of the epic by adding more shades to the already rich hues.

Reflections: Surely You're Joking Mr. Feynman

The first and most striking thing about this book that I shall always remember is, Feynman's expression on the cover. His expression just about encapsulates his attitude, and the kind of life he led. An impish smile, a carefree demeanor exuding an informal, relaxed and affable body language, with a crinkled shirt, a carelessly tucked pen and the intimidating equations doodled on the blackboard, serving as a backdrop to his personality. To me, this cover gives a clear flicker of insight into what this book holds, the kinds of things this impish looking man would recount, and the tone he is likely to take.

I received this book as a gift from an extremely sweet friend, two years back. But in the midst of multiple moves, my nomadic existence and due to my incorrigibly pathetic absent-mindedness, I misplaced it. I know, what a horrible friend am I. And if my friend were to hear this, I can't imagine his disappointment, despite my attempts at redemption. But, after reading this book I understand his enthusiasm to get me to read it! It reflects not just the life of a Physics genius, but contains a hilarious collection of anecdotes from an eccentric man, who was genuinely certified as crazy :)

I have held Feynman in great respect and admiration. I thought reading this book would intensify my reverence for him, but contrary to such a lofty, humbling feeling, he has made me crave for a friend like him to liven up graduate life. I would absolutely love to have a professor like him (regardless of whether I would be worthy of being his student). Feynman was notoriously curious about science, and loved to play with and enjoy Physics. To him Physics was like a fun toy to crack open and figure out how it worked. His Nobel Prize was an inevitable, chance consequence, that he actually tried very hard to not accept. Yes, he was "bummed out" that the prize would attract unwanted attention from people and the media and that he would be bothered with interviews and talks with pompous people, when all he wanted to do was to teach and work with Physics, unperturbed by such extravaganza. He was a man who isolated many of life's complexities and lived by his very simple and fun rules, by being able to exercise freedom and integrity to do what he wanted with Physics.

Contrary to the stereotyped theoretical Physicists (aka Big Bang Theory types), Feynman is an idol of the quintessential "cool dude" - an excellent dancer, a suave and charming lady's man, a lauded bongo drummer, and a talented artist to have had his own gallery opening. Now add in his wit, his humor, his open-mindedness, his passion for puzzles, his mischievous ability to crack open any safe and any puzzle, his incredible IQ and pure intuitive genius, and he turns into a God for geeks. His versatility truly amazes me and is extremely inspiring. The man was ready to plunge into any adventure - right from getting into a nasty fist fight at a sleazy bar, to spending hours in a sense-deprivation tank to understand and experience hallucinations. True to his integrity, he never ever jumped to any conclusion about any topic, unless he collected enough evidence to prove/disprove his hypothesis. And he was the subject of many of his experimentation to understand alternative view points, however "paranormal" they sounded. If he could understand the inherent theory, test, experience and replicate the theory, he was happy. Such balanced open-mindedness, and analytical critiquing, even to question his own theories in Physics, is highly commendable. It's common for many engineers to abhor anything to do with art, poetry or literature. Such pursuits and interests are scoffed at, ridiculed and are dismissed as being empty, convoluted and meaningless. And it's sad that these conclusions are made without even trying to understand any field that falls outside the purview of science. But as a Nobel Prize winner, Feynman was open-minded enough that he desired to understand Art, and put in a lot of effort to scrupulously learn how to draw and sketch. So much so that he sold his sketches and had his own gallery opening. But most important of all, he finally understood how to appreciate Art and why people paid importance to it. This is a breakthrough for a scientist. This unadulterated curiosity was the impetus to all his experiences and is quite infectious. He couldn't care less if his actions would seem inappropriate, or be termed crazy by the dictates of social convention. If he wanted to understand whether humans were capable of tracking smell like dogs and bloodhounds, he got down and crawled on his knees to sniff the carpet to track his own footprints.

It's quite befitting to his nature that he be a rebel. He courted trouble with passion. He enjoyed defying rules, norms and conventions and loved to argue and protest. All he wanted was to be treated like a human being. Why burden oneself with so many rules, contracts and signatures? He found no reason. His frustration at dealing with social scientists was quite amusing, although it paints the social sciences in a very pitiful light. I'm of the view that fields such as anthropology, philosophy and sociology have been taking on a more scientific approach these days. Maybe if Feynman were around now, he would be a better judge. And I have to reiterate his enthusiasm and genuine interest to comprehend such elusive fields. I was laughing out at his earnest experiment to study his own dreams to write a paper for his Philosophy class. With a confused and hyperactive psyche, my sleeps are filled with bizarre and byzantine dreams. Despite my attempts to study them objectively as I am dreaming, I have not succeeded much. It's interesting that you can call upon your consciousness to give you the awareness that you are sleeping and dreaming as you are having the dreams. Due to my propensity for nightmares, I have somehow reached a state where I can tell myself (in the throes of a scary nightmare, where something is chasing me), that it's all a dream and I shouldn't worry which monster or dinosaur is chasing me. But Feynman leaped higher and could direct his dreams to take on the turns he wanted them to, so that he could analyze if his sense of logic, and his sensory perceptions could work as he dreamed. This is like a recursive consciousness within a state of altered consciousness (dream) and Feynman's ability to control his mind in such a way, is outstanding. He always accomplished such difficult and nuanced things with nonchalance that he makes them seem ridiculously simple!

Having raved about him so much, I need to mention my disappointment as well. With complete chapters dedicated to how he picked up girls at a bar, how he figured to get pretty blonds to sleep with him, his philandering escapades with chorus girls and his unabashed obsession with beautiful girls, really put me off. He unfortunately comes across as a womanizer, although his sense of ethics is not out of line. Perhaps I am just a prude to be bothered by his open admissions, for I can imagine how he would truly be an idol to many guys. But my main disappointment is that he could allow himself to be so shallow. With a great mind, capable of so many creative thoughts, I'm just surprised that his interest in women didn't go beyond their looks. But I may be reading too many things into an incomplete picture.

Finally, his writing is exactly as I expected - straight to the point, no frills or fancies, minimal emotions, lots of wit, and simple, informal language. It's almost as if you can hear him talk, waving his hands and making funny gestures. His thoughts on how to write Science textbooks that convey clear emphasis on the underlying fundamentals of Physics such that children are exposed to the joys of Physics, and can relate to and get fueled with curiosity, really made me wish that I had had him teach me at least one topic in Physics. Despite my little disappointment with him, there is lot to be learned and imbibed from this eccentric genius.

This book is a fun journey through Feynman's colorful life. His curious and adventurous spirit leaps out of the book and takes charge of you at least for a few hours, if not more.

In Loving Memory

The battle is over. The dust has settled. And for the first time in several months, I finally am drenched in nothingness. An eerie peace. Numb and empty.

Even the brutal tug-of-war has been paused for now. And both rival teams have come together for once. The cacophony having ebbed, how new it seems to hear the quiet of the dusk and the chirping birds of the dawn. How long has it been since we looked up at the wheels of time spinning around us. For at least these few moments, I hope we take in the gravity of life and connect with that trace of clarity which begs the question, "What are we fighting for?"

But I sit reminiscing on my memories of you. Traversing through the winding roads of my childhood, I can't locate a single memory of you denying me something. Nor can I remember your eyes casting the slightest bit of reproach or frown at me. Your eyes have shone only with love and kindness, and your words have held nothing but appreciation and encouragement for me. When the unruly side of me has snapped at you to question your superstitions, I never understood why you chose to just chuckle softly. As a rebellious teenager when I have raged at your protectiveness and cried out for freedom, I'm now touched at how you continued to unfailingly totter up and down the streets waiting for me to come back home. You have now made me realize how petty I was to have not paid heed to your unconditional love.

I cherish my last memory of you - just about six months back, when you pulled yourself up and inched on your wobbling limbs to show me a rusted suitcase full of our childhood souvenirs, meticulously wrapped and carefully preserved; priceless photographs, forgotten toys, and carelessly strewn certificates. And the feeling still rises in my throat, a mix of frustration, amusement and love when you showed me all my little gifts to you sitting unused and untouched, but carefully wrapped up in your soft dhoti, suffused with moth balls. And your earnest reason? You considered them far too precious to be used, wary that they would be lost, get old with use, or be broken. I know I will never find anyone else to treasure my pittance of gifts the way you did. I was no doubt your pampered princess. But despite being one of your pampered pets, and having seen you rush to my aid every time I've slipped, here I was helpless in another continent when you slurred my name countless times and wished to see me. These pangs of guilt will wane only with time.

I cannot fathom that I will never see your smiling face again, with your puffy snow-white hair, your forehead religiously smeared with white streaks of vibhuthi, your petite frame donning an impeccably bright white shirt and dhoti, diligently washed even when your wrists shook uncontrollably. In such a light of pure flawless white, you stand in my memory with not a shred of malevolence. Having led a selfless, austere life, having been immensely generous, timid, and naive at handling life's numerous twists, having constantly sought acceptance and love, and having undergone much pain all these months, my sincere prayers that you finally find peace. And I will deeply miss all your wonderful little pampering and loving ways, thatha.