The Vacuum

When I set foot for the first time in Kolkata five years ago, I never knew that a day would come when I would miss it badly. Since my college was (yes, sadly it has become past tense now) situated more than fifty kilometers away from Kolkata, I never got the opportunity to spend much time in Kolkata. Nevertheless, I feel attached to the city. After leaving it, I realized I am more attached to Kolkata than Mumbai. Mumbai with its beautiful Marine Drive and vibrant city culture always attracts me. I have seen with my own eyes what they mean when they say Mumbai never sleeps. (By the way, Mumbai University campus does sleep during weekends) I always felt Marine Drive’s view of Arabian Sea is far more romantic than Howrah Bridge’s view of River Ganges. Now I realized I often looked on the wrong side of the Bridge. I was supposed to look inside the city and not away from the city. This is where Howrah Bridge beats Marine Drive. Of course, nostalgia helps me to forget the paan stains on the bridge and garbage floating on the surface of the river. However, if you watch from the Bridge during night time, then you would see what I mean.

When you stand on the Bridge, you realize it doesn’t provide you rock solid support. Instead it keeps on vibrating continuously as if to remind you how close you are to death. Even for an instant, if it fails to provide you support, then the next instant you would be on your own fighting against the mighty currents of river Ganges.  No, I am wrong. It reminds us of life, not death. The Bridge at each instant struggles to live and bears the weight of its Creator – humans.

During my time spent in Patna, I did miss Kolkata and Howrah Bridge but surprisingly I didn’t miss the bridge that connected my adolescence to adulthood (at least numbers tell me that I have grown to be an adult). Perhaps this was because I told myself repeatedly that I would be coming back to my institute in a couple of weeks. This denial of separation was tossed to winds when I came back to campus recently.

In the last two years, whenever I came back from my parental residence, it gradually dawned on me that the campus is not only far away from the city, but also disconnected from the problems of the real world. It is an escape from the reality. Here we are not bothered about either mundanes of running a household like arranging groceries and vegetables or headache of any Indian city — horn-honking traffic. Like everything else in academics, the whole of the campus is sealed beautifully in a transparent glass bottle. Now you don’t misunderstand me. It is not that the campus’s atmosphere is suffocating. Far from it. In fact, it is liberating in some sense. The soothing cool breeze that blows during evenings is just heavenly.

After a gap of three weeks, when I reached back to the campus this week, I found that the wind had become stronger. Apparently it blew away all of my past and numbed my senses. It was as if I had come back to a completely different college. The empty room, the empty wall, the empty corridor and the huge empty mess table with chairs kept on it upturned added to this feeling. There were a few people left in the college, and a fewer known faces were there. It was then it hit me hard that I could never come back to my college. There was nothing left for me to grasp in my fist. The only thing that was left was vacuum. It was everywhere — both outside and inside of me. And I just stared blankly into nothingness with my room’s windows open as the strong breeze kept hitting my face.

The last fall?

I heard somebody talking from far away. The surface on which I was lying was as hard as the floor but still had some warmth to offer to my tired back. The sound became more desperate as it approached nearer. And then suddenly somebody started to wake me up shouting, “Johnny, police, police!”. I shrugged off the hand that threatened to disturb my sleep. The only thing which mattered was to get more sleep. How did I end up being here? I pushed this question away lazingly. I had got tired of running, shouting, growling, fighting, smoking and strangling. Wait a second! Smoking? Strangling? This is not me. No, I definitely could not kill anyone. It’s Jonathan, not me. Uff…I should cut down my time spent in drama practice. Oh right, now it made sense. I was lying on the window-seat waiting for my next cue on the stage. And so, it was my accomplice, Einstein who tried to wake me up. I opened one of my eyes to have a look. The ceiling fan faced me. No, this could not be possibly true! How could I end up being in my mundane hostel room? The mechanical, regular tick-tock coming from my clock kept on study table tried to soothe my nerves. I changed side and tried to go to sleep again. It was clear that more than my body, my mind needed to rest.

As soon as I was descending into the comfortable alley of darkness, there was a loud thud. It must be Matthew falling. He wanted to get as far as possible from Officer Ganjawala who was bent upon telling him his film story. This was my cue. I turned to the other side on the window – seat as Matthew freed his legs. Officer Kartik came to Matthew’s rescue and pursued Officer Ganjawala away from Matthew. They passed by the window-seat. Spandan didn’t want to hurt me much. So, he just brushed against my arm to remind me as he ran after Officer Ganjawala. Then the next instant I fell off the window-seat. The audience laughed seeing two people falling one after another in quick succession. So, my fall was loud enough. The wooden stage smelled of dust and didn’t offer any warmth. ‘OC is coming.’ This was my next cue. I stood up with my back towards the audience. I could feel the gaze piercing through my back. All were waiting for my next move. I said, ‘what?’ Policemen asked, ‘what?’ ‘You think you have caught me, eh? …’ The next instant I found myself in a sharp pain. Something hard had hit my head. I turned and before I could see who he was, I crumpled to the stage with a large thump. Silence hit the auditorium. It was all vacuum. I felt relived. My shoulders felt light for the first time in last two months. I discovered the joy of submission. Now nobody could disturb my sleep. This was the last fall. It was all over. Now no more repetition. No retake. Now there was no need for me to shout on my team to be there in time; no more arguing with props team to do their jobs; no more running to catch the 5:10 pm bus to reach auditorium and no need to walk the whole distance back to hostel in the dead of night.

‘Those last five years were the busiest and happiest of my life.’ It came out from the hidden depth just when I was going to close the lid on this chapter of my college life. This blow was the hardest I felt within a few hours. Suddenly I craved for my tight schedule. I got afraid of the vacuum which engulfed me. “I want it back!” I wanted to shout but my throat was completely dry. Jonathan should not have smoked so much. Before I could make another attempt to shout, I felt my body hanging in air and taken away as if I were a corpse. Instead of shouting ‘Please don’t take me away!’, I shouted, “Please don’t take it away from me!”  Again no words left my throat but this time it was not due to my dry throat. It was my courage that betrayed me. I didn’t know if I could shoulder the whole of it again. The two policemen let go off my unconscious body as we left the stage. I was in a free fall again. Thud!

When I woke up, I felt my legs tied up. I got up with a start and untied them with my free hands. My arms were aching. Somebody had tied me really hard. Just then a policeman was running desperately after me. I instinctively ran away from him and passed by the window-seat. I slowed down my pace there, lest I accidentally wake up Jonathan who was lying down on the stage.

हे कमबख्त वक़्त

One of the last posts in the category ‘Life at IISER-K’

हे कमबख्त वक़्त
तू थम तो ज़रा
देख वो चला जा रहा |

हे कमबख्त वक़्त
तू थिरक तो ज़रा
देख वो छूटा जा रहा |

हे कमबख्त वक़्त
तू रहम तो खा ज़रा
देख वो फिसलता जा रहा |

हे कमबख्त वक़्त तू
बेवफ़ाई खुद से आज दिखा
क्या पता वो फिर मिले ना मिले|

Enter at your own risk

“Which major do you want to take?”

“Why, of course, Physics. I love Astronomy!”

“So, you have read A Brief History of time, right?”

“Yes, but how do you know?”

“How many times?”

“Three…each time I read I understand more and more.”

When I was having this conversation recently with a first ­year student, it seemed to me that I was talking to my younger self, whom I had left behind a long time ago. I used to spend long times star­-gazing and I felt proud about myself if I spotted Mars or Sirius. The twinkling stars did rub off on me. When I started my formal studies in physics, I had the same sparkle in my eyes as a teenager has when they get to meet their infatuation, the same odd mixture of excitement and nervousness. Fed on the stories of legends and their serendipitous discoveries from my childhood, I entered my college education, eagerly waiting for an apple to fall on my head.

However, when I got my hands dirty in the field, I realized most of these apples don’t fall so easily on your head. And worse, most of the time I found myself mundanely watering or pruning the apple trees planted by the giants. Often I was trying to debug someone else’s program that ran over hundred of lines. Or I was banging my head on following a few steps of a derivation in a research paper where author had provided me professional help with an extremely enlightening remark ‘It can be shown that …’. Apparently for everyone it was too trivial to waste time on it. Those excruciatingly long hours made me realize that one doesn’t always get to do the “real” physics. My formal training did teach me fairly advanced stuff like how to compute cross-­sections of particles colliding in Large Hadron Collider. But it left me high and dry when it came to quenching my younger self’s curiosity like why rainbow’s shape is a bow or when clothes are soaked in water, why their color turns darker or why do whirlpools in wash­basins always rotate in anti­clockwise direction. Further, simplicity might be the trademark of a good theory but working with spherical cow approximations doesn’t give satisfaction in the long run.

Many a times I asked myself where is the legendary musk for which I came looking for. I don’t think that hero­ worshiping is a sin. No, instead my concern is with being blindly romantic. This risk is quite high in physics (unlike mathematics) because here often only the glamorous side of the story is told. While recalling how Einstein solved splendidly the aether problem with his special theory of relativity in 1905, it is also important to stress contributions of Poincaré, Lorentz and others. History’s tendency to credit collective success to an individual does glamorize the story, but on the cost of sometimes giving an incorrect picture of what actually happened.

To conclude, there is no denying the fact that physics has its own rewards. My only hope is that when you find that research is not always a free ­flowing joy, when you find that you are stuck in a blind alley despite your best efforts, when you are desperate for some sign of physics to pop up in your lengthy calculations, then you would not complain that nobody told you so. Because I did.

Taxonomy of Love

What is love? A working definition could be love is something more than attachment. If you don’t like my definition, you would at least agree with mathematician G.H Hardy who said that “we may not know quite what we mean by a beautiful poem [love], but that does not prevent us from recognizing one when we read [see] it”. Once preliminaries are out of our way, I would list down my classification of various types of love seen around us –

  • Casual Love: It can be in the form of what people say to be infatuation/crush/puppy love. Or it can be a one-night stand. You get as easily infected as you get over it. Despite its short shell life, it can sometimes start with a thunderbolt and leave a lasting trace.
  • Domestic Love: Love that you take for granted. This guaranteed stability is its cause for salvation as well as its downfall. You would go all around the world looking for love ignoring it completely. But each time you return disappointed, domestic love would be always there waiting for you with its open arms, just like home. This is the most undervalued, underrated love.
  • Solitary Love: Love that is best enjoyed without nobody’s company, all alone in the seclusion. Of course, narcissism is included in this category but I am sure you are not thinking about it. It is popularly believed that males are the sole practitioner of this ignominious love. But there are beauties who have discovered it for their private pleasure. Once you taste the fruits of the labor, it is difficult to let go off it even for married ones. It is a great stress-reliever and you can have whenever you feel like, subject to only time and space constraint. For novices, it provides first opportunity to explore themselves.
  • Bedroom Love: Many would vehemently keep enough distance between the words love and sex. There is not any if we we are talking about bedroom love. Now again many of us would say what one does which involves above the waist is spiritual love and the one which involves below the waist is physical love. Why there is so much reluctance to accept the divinity and purity of the orgasmic pleasure one gets during copulation? Accept it and enjoy it without any guilt! It is not for nothing that Pagans believed that it is a means of enlightenment.
    Okay, I think a clarification is in order. The whole one-night stand affair is casual love but what you do during the night is bedroom love.
  • Unrequited Love: Love that is tragic and comic at the same time. You would be pledging your love to be pure (read not associated with sexual desire) in front of their photographs and dreaming to make them your life partner, but the other doesn’t even get to know that you exist. Or worse, they know everything about your love, but they don’t care about it or they pretend so. If you are wasting your time playing the waiting game, it means you believe it is the latter. Don’t do that. Instead follow tenth commandment of Osho: do not search; that which is, is; stop and see. This is the most despicable love. Avoid it at all costs and move on to a different love as soon as possible.
  • Perfect Love: Love that is told to be eternal, absolute and unconditional. Almost always it is supposed to be love-at-first-sight with a zing factor. In other words, once you see it, you can never miss it. It is often believed that it is spontaneous; you don’t need to put any effort as it will come looking for you on its own. Sadly you rarely experience it and if you do, it doesn’t last for more than a few moments. Every relationship has those perfect moments of triumph over banality. And nostalgia makes you feel you only had such moments in your past. If you are wise enough to resist nostalgia, then you would find yourself lured by the red roses and chocolates, walk during rains or full-moon nights, a world painted by the romantic songs, movies and novels. All of them are bent on making you believe the magic is for real. At the end of the day, they are a substitute for reality which help you to indulge in what is called vicarious love.
  • Vicarious Love: Love that is derived, the love you experience second-hand either in romantic novels or movies. You can’t brush aside its seriousness just because it’s imaginary.

(Acknowledgement: Inspiration goes to Gabriel García Márquez’s Love in the time of cholera, and all of my past and present loved ones)

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