tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-147514632024-03-13T09:05:40.091-04:00Can You Hear Me Now?"I had a life, once...now I have a computer and a modem!"dipthoughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18235211045530849384noreply@blogger.comBlogger228125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14751463.post-89519974831316953872012-08-13T11:19:00.001-04:002012-08-13T13:57:31.101-04:00My Olympic Experience<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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The Olympics is over. In spite of the seemingly outrageous magenta/purple color scheme, very un-British sunny summer weather, and even more un-British like "aMoozing" success of team-GB, this was an out and out British games.
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And I never thought I would say this (after all we are programed from childhood to hate anything English), but this is perhaps the first time I enjoyed all of that Britishness, and loved that I could be a part of the games. I dont know how many times in my lifetime I will be residing in a host country - never before I even was in in the timezone of one. That brought its own benefits, getting tickets was possible, and I could follow all the events via BBC webcast and extremely efficient games website, where the results were being updated realtime.
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All I wanted to watch live was NBA stars in action - and after getting a ticket of US against Argentina game, I shopped around for some
"minor" events during that weekend, and ended up with "cheap" women's volleyball and boxing tickets. Little did I know that the volleyball session would feature the US team against Turkey, and the boxing would have India's own Mary Kom winning her quarter-final bout to assure herself of her eventual bronze. They did not sell Indian flags or shirts, but how I wished I had one!
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But the Olympic games is barely about just the results. Defying all the dooms-day predictions, London lived up to its role of the
host city magnificently. As the city was over-run with thousand of athletes, and many more non-athletes, there was not even a hint of chaos anywhere, rather the festive spirit was all-pervasive. The arrangements to avoid crowd congestion at all venues (like staggered starting times of events at the gigantic ExCel arena, which hosted a multitude of indoor events, different entry and exit routes) worked brilliantly, and even though a lot of planning went into it, obviously they could not have held a stage-rehearsal. There were Wenlock statues in every corner for people to pose and take pictures, and public viewing arenas with large screens. I was at the one just under the tower bridge, and British athletes captured three golds on that magical Saturday evening, the crowd roared and screamed, and the tower bridge was lit up first in UK colors, then in stunning golden hue.
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The tube ran frequently, till very late. Droves of volunteers in their bright garbs were everywhere to politely but firmly point people to the right directions. Sure, there were queues at security checkpoints, food-stalls in the venues but none seemed overwhelming. When the major complain of the people were unavailability of tickets online, driven by an order of magnitude more demand than supply, Lord Coe and co. undoubtably will feel great.
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The spread-out Olympic park, which contained the main stadium apart from the aquatic center, waterpolo stadium, hockey stadium, cycling arenas, basketball venue, and the ugly but adorable orbit, was like the cauldron of Olympic experience. The athletes, officials and the spectators from different countries milled freely - and the folks with badges hanging around their necks were having as much fun soaking in the ambience. Thats what makes the olympics unique - the athletes from nondescript countries can share the same stage with the superstars, basking in the collective glory.
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The olympic is overtly commercialized - it seemed like trademark mafia will pounce on anyone saying London and 2012 in the same sentence. The beeb was irritatingly patriotic - hailing the great performance of team-GB was fine and expected, but often focussed on the 5th place British athlete while the battle for the gold was fought upfront. Apparently central London turned into a ghost-town devoid of usual tourists in the first few days, but normalcy was restored soon. These minor distractions seemed irrelevant when so many folks could enjoy the games up, close and personal. Luckily I could be one of them.
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dipthoughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18235211045530849384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14751463.post-48786827030679538642011-08-14T08:32:00.011-04:002011-08-14T09:03:15.937-04:00Please say it ain't soFacebook and its friends are wonderful, they really are. They help us to know who is dating (or breaking up) with whom, who secretly always wanted to be a farmer or mafia warlord, and who likes cats. However, they also bred the mindless urge to "like" and comment on anything and everything. While "liking" stuff can lead from hilarious moments ("My girlfriend broke up with me"; you <span style="font-style:italic;">liked</span> it? I always knew you liked her) to irritating situations ("Flight delayed for 6 hours, feel like punching someone"; "what is there to <span style="font-style:italic;">like</span> about my flight being delayed?) to potentially offensive ones ("sad day: my dog dr<span style="font-style:italic;"></span>owned and died"; like? you insensitive bastard!), my beef is more with the comments, which are sometimes so awesomely stupid, that I really feel those should be considered a crime against humanity and banned.
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<br />Consider the ubiquitous situation of seeing a friend's wedding pictures. It is another matter that I got to know that (s)he is getting married only via facebook, and when I asked how long (s)he knows his/her to be soul-mate, I realized they have barely met. Well, nothing wrong in that, people are busy, and have no time to look for partners, and parents obligingly did the needful. So far so good. The wedding happens, with all pomp and pageantry, and in this ultra-connected world, it does not take long before unofficial and "official" wedding pictures start populating our newsfeed. Those who knew congratulate, those had no in-linking that a wedding is at the works, express surprise, and then congratulate the couple nevertheless.
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<br />Fair enough.
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<br />Then comes a comment, "nice couple". Well this is like saying "cute baby", when it is <span style="font-style:italic;">known</span> that all babies have to be cute. Contains zero information, but I can see why people can get emotional seeing their dear friend finally getting married, after complaining for years about their single-hood. I'll let that pass. Next comes, "made for each other" or "perfect couple", or one of the variants, which makes me cringe. Well, first of all, these two individuals did not know each other a week back, and a series of (happy) coincides resulted in them being an official couple, so as an outsider, I can not see how another outsider can infer such message from that picture. May be they will live happily ever after, in that case that statement will make sense after twenty years, or may be they will call the cops next night, in that case the commenter should be lynched publicly.
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<br />At this point, someone can argue that it is not a big deal, and may be it is <a href="http://knowyourmeme.com/memes/events/not-intended-to-be-a-factual-statement--2#.Tke9RoKqXTQ">not intended to be a factual statement</a>. Well, then why make it? You do not make such a hollow statement at your work, or anywhere else. Why leave your otherwise working mind at the kitchen when you login to facebook?
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<br />Then there are paranoia. A rabid African giraffe has kicked a guy in the butt because his tee-shirt that said "I have facebook, I dont need a life", so we need to share the post to all out thousand friend's wall, and tell them not to use facebook for 2 days, when all we should do is not wear such a tee-shirt. Even the kid who makes that tee shirt in a slum in Pakistan knows giraffes do not like that color. Get a clue, folks. No one is grabbing any information you have not provided, posting something on hundred others wall would not reveal the name of the secret crush (but if that person is one of those hundred, (s)he will know you are a retard).
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<br />There are ways to control how much information you share with whom. Not perfect probably, a tad inconvenient, but better than coming across as a "404", as they said in older days.dipthoughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18235211045530849384noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14751463.post-69583885127601570022011-05-14T21:52:00.006-04:002011-05-14T22:39:59.842-04:00Good job, Bengal.<span style="font-style:italic;">For some background, please see <a href="http://dipthought.blogspot.com/2011/04/goodbye-faded-red.html">this post</a>.<br /></span> I am euphoric that my prediction came true, and in what fashion!<br /><br />Finally the mighty has fallen, the citadel has not only been breached, but demolished. And this is unlike any other election I have ever experienced, this is not just a mere change of regime, this is intensely personal, and no, I cant be magnanimous in victory. The pent up anger of years would not allow me to. I always hated you if you are a CPIM sympathizer, and now I will say it on your face. That is, if you still want to show your face. <br /><br />Make no mistakes, I am never a communist sympathizer. But curiously, that has got very little to do with my intense dislike for CPIM. It is impossible to explain to anyone else who have not been through that: how we grew up seeing the systematic politicization of all spheres of society, and consequent victimization of those who were not supporting them. I do not believe this happened anywhere else - everywhere a strong opposition ensured that the ruling party was voted out if they did not live upto the promise. In Calcutta this was probably not so prominent, but in districts, fear and favor eliminated any sort of opposition presence. So either you were with them, or you were literally victimized in every possible way without any avenue to protest. This was way before Singur and Nadigram happened, when being anti-CPIM started becoming fashionable. Growing up in north Bengal in eighties and nineties, it was hard not to see this blatant abuse of power, and persecution of the non-followers. Of course if this was a relationship with benefit for you, you would keep quiet, no matter what your conscience would say. Otherwise, you just grew up bitter, with the party, with those shameless backbone-less people all around you.<br /><br />Thankfully I never stayed in those villages, where people daring to support the non existent opposition were physically abused, tortured or killed, or if they were really lucky, made social outcasts. Thankfully I was never the homeowner, whose home was forcibly taken and made into a party office. Thankfully none did any horrible things to me, and I could escape Bengal. But being in close proximity to the education sector, I could also see how they completely controlled and destroyed it.<br /><br />From primary school headmasters to University vice-chancellors, all the prime positions went to party supporters, qualifications no bar. People with awful academic record got appointed or promoted ignoring people with much better record. It does not seem a huge deal taken in isolation, but when this becomes all pervasive, the overall quality of education suffers. Already the outdated school curriculum and abolition of English in primary schools crippled an entire generation, and then meritocracy was several discouraged by handing over the higher education to a bunch of handpicked party followers. Student unions were the breeding ground of party cadres, so opposition were ruthlessly dealt with with local hoodlums roaming free on campus - so ruthlessly that in places like North Bengal University, no election was needed. I can go on all night long, and still would not cover the full spectrum of atrocities.<br /><br />No escape from this made it suffocating. Seeing people close to you affected made this personal. For years, all we could do was dream, that such a day will come. I do not endorse violence, but when I feel this much hatred toward anyone remotely saying a good word for CPIM, I can also see people who suffered disastrously will try to get revenge. Payback time, folks!<br /><br />I hope Mamata goes on to become a successful chief minister, but even if she is not it would not and should not demean this feat. Single-handedly she bought the regime down, even after being written off and derided repeatedly. Her methods were not always the most sophisticated, nor was she most media friendly (before making fun of her for English, remember that she is a product of the government education system), but hell, she got the job done. She deserves all the accolades and more. If you have a problem with her, then just step back and think why you never had a problem with how things were going so far, and you will realize what the term brainwashed means. <br /><br />Hah, how I loved when they hoisted Trinamul flag in Alimuddin street.dipthoughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18235211045530849384noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14751463.post-27501297632205619532011-05-09T18:00:00.005-04:002011-05-09T18:13:57.583-04:00Pilot for a day!Those who know me, also know how obsessed I am about anything related to flying. I fly often, read airline blogs, visit frequent flier forums, listen to channel 9 on United (where you can hear the wonderful conversation between the pilots and the ATC), love looking for cheap airfares in my spare time. But I have always been a passive passenger, never got best seat on a bird. Well, until now.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KcHXBG0e7B4/Tchkvy1-FYI/AAAAAAAAKC0/tRY9NyJppyo/s1600/IMG_3752-1.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 256px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KcHXBG0e7B4/Tchkvy1-FYI/AAAAAAAAKC0/tRY9NyJppyo/s320/IMG_3752-1.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5604840508527351170" /></a><br /><br />To all fairness, it was this cute little two-seater aircraft, and the gentleman beside my did everything so that I could live to tell the tale. However, the thrill of seating at the control, observing the little details in action as the little bird took to the skies was itself an experience.I was even allowed to make a 180 degree turn once we were up there, of course under strict supervision. The light plane shook a bit as we took off, but otherwise it was a smooth, fun ride.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AXCOZQ0s-X8/Tchm9e_hx2I/AAAAAAAAKDM/70xb0pE0a6U/s1600/IMG_3778.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AXCOZQ0s-X8/Tchm9e_hx2I/AAAAAAAAKDM/70xb0pE0a6U/s320/IMG_3778.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5604842942740154210" /></a><br /><br />So what was this all about? I signed up for an half an hour flight simulator training, and half an hour flying lesson in Cleveland's lakeside Burke airport. It rained all week, but the weather was perfect, and after a little wait, I was adjusting my headphone and the seatbelts. And surprisingly, it did not look so complicated - the interactions with the controller sounded just like I am used to hearing on United's channel 9, the controls look familiar after the brief time at the simulator, and the cramped cockpit was not too uncomfortable either. <br /><br />I wish I could say I learned a lot, or it gave me a better understanding of pilot;s job. Not really - nothing came as a surprise. Not that I would want to do this toy flight again. But like many things you want to do once in your lifetme, this was that type of an experience. Hard to describe why it was special, but it was indeed.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uN1Kd_btmRE/Tchlz1EtoBI/AAAAAAAAKDA/BWKqz3JCtOA/s1600/IMG_3709.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uN1Kd_btmRE/Tchlz1EtoBI/AAAAAAAAKDA/BWKqz3JCtOA/s320/IMG_3709.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5604841677357162514" /></a>dipthoughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18235211045530849384noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14751463.post-90301929965027548792011-04-19T10:23:00.002-04:002011-04-19T10:24:52.289-04:00Picture of the day (bike way to CERN from my place)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WiJHlS9Msi0/Ta2a4KHIYqI/AAAAAAAAKCU/r2bFLLJ-LIc/s1600/P1070710.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WiJHlS9Msi0/Ta2a4KHIYqI/AAAAAAAAKCU/r2bFLLJ-LIc/s400/P1070710.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5597300201469010594" /></a>dipthoughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18235211045530849384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14751463.post-52615688224175081042011-04-16T07:32:00.005-04:002011-04-16T08:22:00.309-04:00Goodbye, faded red?Failed governments get thrown out in the elections. Corrupt politicians go to prison. Dictators are forced to step down. Regimes change. <span style="font-style:italic;">Everywhere</span>, except in West Bengal.<br /><br />I am on the wrong side of thirty now. If I was a football player, I would probably consider retirement. And yet, I have not seen any other party in power in West Bengal except the party I prefer to term Communism redundancy advocacy party (henceforth will be referred to as crap). An entire generation of Bengali's grew up, went to school, went to college, found a job, started a family; while the same crap ruled. The remarkable part is, West Bengal is neither a heaven on earth as this kind of total allegiance to crap will indicate, nor it has a dictatorial system. Crap won democratic elections. So many of them, that I lost count.<br /><br />The obvious question is why, and unfortunately there is not a clear non-partisan answer. Part of it is like how the reservation system is implemented in India - so called backward castes were treated terribly by your great great grandfather, so the dumb guy living a palatial house next door with a backward-caste-lastname will be picked ahead of you for admission to a college or for a job. The previous government did some unmentionable bad stuff, which our generation only heard about, but that meant they can never ever be voted back. To all fairness, crap did some good stuff for rural folks yeas back, but simultaneously they systematically politicized the whole society. People in high posts all over the state became political appointees. People needed to be crap-sympathizers to get jobs or promotions. Effectively west Bengal became crap monopoly. Fear and favor ruled. Opposition parties had no effective existence - their candidates could not enter their constituencies. In polling booth after booth in rural areas, crap got close to 100% of the votes, sometimes more. <br /><br />One has to give credit where credit is due. I am sure it was no mean feat for them to control every aspect of the society so efficiently. But as they say, power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. They grew arrogant, and the pressure to keep their loyal followers happy was growing all the time. They needed low skill jobs, and crap also had to keep rural folks happy. Mediocrity ruled, teaching of English in schools were abolished, computers were shunned. That crippled an entire generation, who could not compete in national level. Exodus of students to engineering colleges down south became commonplace. Those who could afford, learned English anyway. The class difference was ironically used as a tool by crap to paint a picture of elites against us. The state which lead in education and innovation lost its aura, and those who succeeded did not because of the state policies, but in spite of them.<br /><br />Imaginary enemies were invented and blamed for all ills. Amazingly people fell for it too, or pretended they did to keep crap happy. All the non-developments were blamed on the central government, all the dissidence on CIA and USA. Periodic strikes were organized against them, even when the central government was supported by crap, the ridiculousness of which was somehow drowned in mass hysteria. Unions and unionized workers became powerful, so powerful that they started dictating the terms to the factory managements. Those who tried to comply with the outrageous demands could not afford it long. Those who did not were termed as <span style="font-style:italic;">"America-r dalal"</span> and violence ensued. Net result was the same though - closed factories. That militant unionism spread to all sectors. In universities, non teaching stuff proudly claimed <span style="font-style:italic;">"Aamrai to sob chalai"</span>, in government offices, there was no impetus to get work done, or even come on time. The whole mentality was turned into an "us versus them" scenario, where "them" were conveniently defined according to the situation. Anyone could block the road, burn buses, beat up the station-master, occupy or encroach on a land, and still claim to be a victim. <br /><br />I do not know if the alternative will be any better. Honestly, I do not care, and that is not because I am living away. Perhaps for the first time in my life, I see a real chance of crap being cleaned in this election. A change is desperately needed to get rid of this well entrenched arrogance propagated and used in all these years. I hope that happens.<br /><br />P.S - these are all <a href="http://thinkprogress.org/2011/04/15/kyl-aide-not-intended-to-be-a-factual-statement/">intended to be factual statements.</a>dipthoughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18235211045530849384noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14751463.post-75990360056287730102011-03-25T07:55:00.001-04:002011-03-25T07:56:19.818-04:00Picture of the day (just before landing at Geneva Airport)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eEt2FgGlJoA/TYyC1ek_S_I/AAAAAAAAJ68/_84G1Lsdx8U/s1600/P1060633.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eEt2FgGlJoA/TYyC1ek_S_I/AAAAAAAAJ68/_84G1Lsdx8U/s400/P1060633.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587985092912827378" /></a>dipthoughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18235211045530849384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14751463.post-45351387426010865692011-03-17T01:07:00.004-04:002011-03-17T01:17:24.509-04:00My day with a MustangI arrived at Eugene, Oregon late in the evening. Tired after traveling for almost 24 hours from Geneva, I just wanted to pick up the rental car quickly, find the hotel and crash. So when she offered me a free upgrade to a SUV, I politely declined, I had no intention of driving a gas-guzzling beast for no good reason. But I could not say no when she offered me a Mustang next. I just made sure it was not red, and luckily it was shiny silver.<br /><br />I have never driven a Mustang before. In fact, coming to think of it, the fanciest car I have driven before was Toyota Prius. No matter how ugly it is, I loved how it did almost 50 miles a gallon. But Mustang was different animal altogether. It has this sexy look, and the pickup was super smooth. That actually got me worried, since I knew I will end up speeding without even realizing it.<br /><br />A quick day trip to Corvallis was all that was planned. That would not have done justice to this creature, so we decided to drive upto Mary's peak, a nearby vista-point. The drive started off quiet innocuously, and soon we were going up the hill on narrow winding road. Some patches of snow materialized n the sides, nothing to perturb us. We kept going. And then, before we could start looking for a corner to turn around, we got stuck in snow. The wheels would keep rotating, without us moving an inch. Thankfully it was not dark yet, but the situation seemed hopeless.<br /><br />As we tried to assess our options, a pickup truck appeared from behind. With snow tires and four wheel drive, that ugly car was could go where our sleep beauty could not. They drove repeatedly over the ice, making a track for us to go back down, but in reverse. Going backwards, with almost an out of control car, on a curved road is not fun, and soon enough, I over-steered, getting stuck in the snow again. Out only hope was to somehow get back to the tire tracks again, and roll back another twenty yards or so, where we could tun around. The friends with the truck had left by then, but another good samaritan stepped up. It was his idea to pile up deadwood under the tires to let them have some traction, as I stepped on the gas to move to ever so slightly, and managed to be back on track after three attempts. Physics in action, but a Ph.D in physics does not prepare you for this!<br /><br />That was enough adventure for the Mustang, before it went back to the airport parking lot.dipthoughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18235211045530849384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14751463.post-64112010358294084802011-03-16T19:40:00.002-04:002011-03-25T07:54:44.160-04:00Picture of the day (Multnomah Falls, OR on a rainy day)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-d1quwijrFDs/TYFKty0IpII/AAAAAAAAJ6c/lxOCvbwzGK8/s1600/P1060688.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-d1quwijrFDs/TYFKty0IpII/AAAAAAAAJ6c/lxOCvbwzGK8/s400/P1060688.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5584827163511137410" /></a>dipthoughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18235211045530849384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14751463.post-50081381327932327662011-03-03T13:25:00.004-05:002011-03-03T13:28:08.051-05:00Swiss Bank InitiationSo I am a proud owner of a Swiss bank account now. After being refused by UBS because of my American passport, I went to the postoffice next door at CERN, and voila they opened an account for me. Now I have been pointed out, rather unkindly, as I may add, that only the poor people in India open bank account in postoffices. However, in Geneva, a lowly postdoc <span style="font-style:italic;">is</span> among the poorest of the society, so I cant really complain.<br /><br />After signing a simple form saying I am allowing IRS full access to my account, they bright yellow card arrived by mail. Then a password for online banking. Armed with both, I tried login in online, but failed miserably in the first step, and it appeared one of the subsequent one involved using a machine. I went to the ATM, as I thought that would be the closet approximation of what one would mean by a machine, but turned out I need a PIN (which is no the online banking password, fair enough) to do anything at the ATM. Soon enough though, I received the 6 digit PIN. The fun was just beginning though.<br /><br />Next I received this strange creature in my mail, with a long set of instructions on how to login to my account. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1yTJYW0cz4U/TW_dJ49UgfI/AAAAAAAAJ5o/GvMeybtIJgg/s1600/dp810newcard.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 220px; height: 232px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1yTJYW0cz4U/TW_dJ49UgfI/AAAAAAAAJ5o/GvMeybtIJgg/s320/dp810newcard.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579921625313477106" /></a><br /><br /><br />I was given an 7 digit ID number (which is of course neither my account number, nor printed anywhere on the card, and the browser can not be set to remember it) which I have to use to login, using the previously received password. Then the next screen will will spit out a number as , which I have to enter in my device to generate the one time access code. Using the device is not trivial, after inserting the card, I need my PIN (I have not figured a way to change it so far), then only I can enter the first number to generate the second one. Now I am in. I thought may be this was the first time setup, but no, <span style="font-style:italic;">every</span> single login will involve this multistep fun.<br /><br />They really take their security seriously.dipthoughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18235211045530849384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14751463.post-25182662465113248322011-02-27T23:45:00.001-05:002011-02-27T23:47:57.364-05:00Sound of SilenceATLAS control room is awfully quiet at night, all of us at shift are intently staring at room full of monitors, spitting out plots, and color coded status of detector components. There are about a dozen of us, but I barely know who the guy at the next desk is. When I think about the shifts at CDF control room years back, it was very different. There were only 4 of us, but we chitchatted, cracked jokes, shared food. And then there were alarms, very audible ones. For anything unusual, animals barked, trains whistled, elephants roared, and water flowed loudly, accompanied by a mechanical hard-to-ignore female voice. Those alarms were as much a part of the CDF control room experience as anything. I miss them in ATLAS.<br /><br />That brings up an interesting question, the importance of sound in situations where it is not strictly necessary. I was watching the superbowl on a French TV channel here - the same plays, the same pictures, but with the commentary in French. Worse, the commentators seemed to be sitting in Paris, so the crowd noise was real muffled. Somehow I could never get the feel of excitement associated with such a high profile game - a closely contested one too, and I am convinced it was the lack of usual "football sound". How often have we realized were speeding driving a super-smooth car with no sound? Sea beaches do not feel like sea beaches without the roar of the sea, specially so at dark. <br /><br />A while back, I had an interesting discussion with a friend about the effect of dialogues in performing arts in general, especially in movies. Her argument was, the story can still be followed without understanding the conversations, and a movie in a foreign language without subtitles should be equally enjoyable. I disagreed, saying the cultural references are often integral to the storyline, and without understanding the dialogues at all will be a serious impediment to enjoying the movie. A movie like " Big Lebowski" is dependent fully on dialogues, while "The Last Tango in Paris" is not." What is your take on this?dipthoughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18235211045530849384noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14751463.post-64189323776981735672011-02-21T16:26:00.003-05:002011-02-21T19:27:50.877-05:00A travelogue without picturesMy camera and laptop are my constant travel companions. This time I ditched both for my short dash to Dresden, since this was just a trip to bring my belongings to Geneva. Nothing remotely exciting can happen, as I told myself, and no point in carrying more stuff than absolutely necessary. While my cute little Nookcolor did not allow me to miss my thinkpad much, the camera was sorely missed.<br /><br />That was not because of the day long bus ride from Dresden to Geneva. To all fairness, this was my first long roadtrip in this continent, and while the scenery as we entered Switzerland was pretty, nothing was spectacularly new. The highways looked as boring as US freeways, with Mcdonalds' sprouting up in the middle of nowhere. The rest areas had the same look and feel, except one big difference. US is not just the "land of the free", but also the land of free restrooms, while here every usage involved paying. <br /><br />But I digress. The day before, I flew to Dresden, and nothing seemed unusual till we landed there. The airport was full with police helicopters, and I suddenly remembered that was some kind of demonstration day for neo-Nazis. That thought slipped away somewhat as I boarded the train to the city center, and nothing could have prepared me for what I saw after arriving at the main train station. It was full with police, all in full gear. All the exits were heavily barricaded and guarded. I still thought it is just a preventative measure, but then I was told no public transit is running. No tram, and no taxis. Undaunted, I stepped out, and it looked like a battlefield. Shouting mobs contained by police barricades, armored cars, circling helicopters overhead. All the main roads were hopelessly blocked, hoping to contain the neo-Nazi marchers, with friendly policemen and women warning me of Nazis. Soon it became clear there are not only Nazis, but a battalion of anti-Nazi protesters too, and it was not obvious which group was which. They also sat on the main roads and tried to block the right wing folks, and the police had a tough time to keeping them apart. Later reports put number of neo-Nazis at about 4000, while the protesters were about 5 times larger, but its hard to get the global picture standing in the middle of it. Ironically, the more damage was done by the the protesters, setting trash cans on fire, and provoking confrontation (an aside: they should really learn from Calcuttans how to burn things. <a href=" http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=618687&id=822495467&fbid=10150409936890468">This</a> looks pathetic, we burn buses and trams with much less ado). I had to walk all the way to my destination, taking many detours, before a good samaritan offered me a ride at the very end. The city was tense till late evening, with most shops closed, and random groups of people walking around. <br /><br />Too bad I could not get any pictures. You do not get to see such a mayhem often.dipthoughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18235211045530849384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14751463.post-42467859310986723102011-02-15T14:15:00.005-05:002011-02-15T14:29:51.203-05:00Horrors of house hunting in GenevaNo, I have not found one yet. I have serious doubts if I will ever find one.<br /><br />So I landed up in Geneva a couple of weeks back, eager to start working <span style="font-style:italic;">at</span> CERN, where all the action in our field is. All was great, except the small problem of finding a place to live. To all fairness, I heard it is a non trivial task, but I could not have found anything until I was here. After sorting visa issues, I started looking around.<br /><br />Geneva is a beautiful <a href="http://dipthought.blogspot.com/2007/06/first-glance-of-europe-picturesque.html">city</a>, and very international. While that feels nice, the presence of all the international organizations and the associated workforce is the main source of housing problem. In last ten years, for example, CERN has gone from an European lab to a truly international one, with a huge American presence. Unfortunately the housing market has not kept up with this population explosion. <br /><br />That makes house owners and renting agencies the king in this skewed market. For each available dwelling, people apply. From my limited experience so far, I realized that putting together this application is no less harrowing than grad school application. They ask for copies of the work contract and pay slips, to be sure than that I will be here and can afford to pay the rent. Of course proof of identity and valid residence permit is required, as a document called "attestation de non poursuite" (obtained after waiting for an hour in a government office), which effectively proves that none is pursuing me for non-payment of rent or any bills (Is not the US credit history system wonderful?). One also wanted a letter of recommendation. I gather many people here also have a template for it, saying the applicant is among the top 5% of the renters, whatever may that mean. And then there is the application form itself. Usually in French, it has such probing questions like why I want this place. Next time I will answer because I have not found any other places - not sure that bare truth will exactly help me.<br /><br />So after collecting all these materials from a bunch of people, they select one. Positive discrimination is blatantly in effect, so families and women get preference, and single guys like me are rarely picked. So many of the people from CERN end up sharing houses. Now after living alone for all these years as graduate student and postdoc, I am not very thrilled by the idea, and I do not exactly think my living habits will endear myself to prospective housemates. The other option remains getting a room in a house. I seen one, a window-less room in a basement of a house, sharing a common entrance with the family living there, who did not seem to get the concept of flexible working hours and omni-present deadlines. That was not cheap either.<br /><br />I lived in a spacious house, minutes away from the my institute and the train station in Dresden. Here, a place one third of its size, will probably cost thrice. If I find one, that is.dipthoughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18235211045530849384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14751463.post-25460875762868962402011-01-27T16:18:00.005-05:002011-01-29T17:08:06.749-05:00My Krakow ExperienceWorking in Dresden for past couple of years had presented me with the unique opportunity of exploring the somewhat under appreciated eastern Europe. After a while, all the cities do look annoyingly similar, but it it does not take much effort to observe how historical background has shaped each city's character uniquely. It is never possible to get a complete picture in weekend trips, but as they say, something is better than nothing.<br /><br />Krakow in central Poland was my destination last weekend. Like most of the east European cities recovering from communism, it also has a deep disdain for the Russians. The leftovers from socialist era, however are still there. The most prominent were the so called milk-bars, the highly subsidized canteen style eateries, where we had excellent and cheap perogies. Food is generally cheap, and most people spoke some English. <br /><br />Sandwiched between mighty Russia and Germany, Poland always had a difficult existence, suffering aggression, conquest and persecution. Pretty it was, with the usual assortment of imposing churches, castles and palaces, but also with the somber reminders of terrors of not too distant past.That is where I spent most of my time. They are undoubtedly depressing, but also in a strange way makes you appreciate life more.<br /><br />The German occupation during WW2 , and subsequent brutality were the dominant theme of the two places I visited in the city. Jagiellonian University, which is one of the oldest universities in the Europe, and the museum housed in the enamel factory of Oscar Schindler. Nicolas Copernicus and Pope John Paul II are probably the two most famous inhabitants of the city and they both studied at the university at different times. It was forcibly shut down during the German occupation and a group of professors were arrested. The next destination was Oscar Schindler's enamel factory, made popular by the Steven Spielberg movie, which was also filmed here. This has now been turned into a permanent exhibition depicting the condition of Krakow's inhabitants, both Jewish and Polish, during the Nazi occupation. This is a not a typical museum, rather gives one a feeling of walking down the streets while everything unfolds around him, thanks to original video and audio recordings, photographs, and the carefully designed exhibition space. We are forced to confront the horrors of life under Nazi occupation firsthand, and to put it mildly, it was not pleasant!<br /><br />However, that barely prepared us for the mass murder fields we were to visit next day. The adjacent cities of Auschwitz and Birkenau were the location of the largest WW2 era concentration camps. Not much remains now at Birkenau, where most of the "evidence" were destroyed by the Nazis while fleeing. Still the occasional pits and chimneys, and the barbed wire fences serve as a jarring reminder of the cruelty. This was the place were trains packed with prisoners arrived, and many of them were led directly to gas chambers. The rest were crammed in stable-like shades, where not many survived the utterly pathetic living conditions. Walking across the snow covered eerily quiet landscape, it is hard to imagine that men can be so cruel. While top Nazi leaders were certainly driven by ambition and ideology, the foot soldiers were merely doing their job. And to most of them, this was probably just another job - what perhaps required an incredible amount of de-humanization of the jews. <br /><br />The Auschwitz camp was much smaller, with closely spaced barracks. Nothing apart from the cruel fences, and the gloriously inappropriate sign "Arbeit macht frei", would make it stand out . Many of the buildings house exhibitions now, some showing how people from different countries from across the continent were brought it here, and some showing the condition of the camps. The sheer scale of the Nazi effort is mindbogglingly depressing. Torture almost lost its meaning, and death was cheap. It was an "industrial" revolution of a different kind.<br /><br />Some pictures are <a href="http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=3316409&id=2010577&l=f67b249276">here.</a>dipthoughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18235211045530849384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14751463.post-9442204297089521782011-01-15T15:52:00.003-05:002011-01-29T17:07:43.744-05:00Is going back the new way forward?We all have been subjected to this all important question at some point or the other, whether we intend to go back to India after "finishing" our studies. Some answered honestly, some gave more of a politically correct answer. Some said they do not know. But as it was a purely speculative question at that point, and none had to give a "final" answer, so what we said did not really carry a whole lot of weight. We knew we will cross the bridge when it came to that, unless of course we were pushed out into the water.<br /><br />Undoubtedly that has happened to people. Some lost funding, some did not clear their qualifying examinations, some had personal issues and had to go back. I am not talking about those forced departures. Suddenly I am seeing a lot of my contemporaries from India, doing well in US or Europe in academics, deciding to go back in their free will, often abandoning their current positions. I also have examples of my family members or other senior folks who went back, again mostly in their own accord. Is there a generation-independent common thread in these homecomings, or individuals just acted according to their own personal situations? <br /><br />The one underlying thread is always taking care of family. None of our parents are getting younger, and being in the same timezone rather than a long flight or two away is certainly more comforting. It is also true that for some, industry jobs in India are as good as what they would have gotten over here, minus the hassles of visa, green card and immigration lawyers. But for people looking at academic positions, is India equally tempting? Or is it not about career, but more about security? Priorities changed, or it never was about loving the work?<br /><br />Career is always a very selfish pursuit, and uncertain too. In spite of working our backside off, while ignoring social obligations and family responsibilities, there is no assurance that we will ever get a permanent academic position in US (or in Europe, for that matter) which we will like. Specially for those of us in fields, where supply far outweighs the demand, we spend years as "postdocs" before even thinking about permanent positions. That is essentially like waiting in a queue, without knowing what it is at the end. So after unsuccessfully exploring all possibilities, if you still like what you did all these while (and realize that you not really good for anything else!), and going back gives you an opportunity to continue in academics, albeit in a slightly more frustrating setup, it does make perfect sense. The money is not so bad either nowadays. <br /><br />However, many are going back much earlier. Yes, there is a glut of faculty positions in India now, after all these new institutes were created, but did we work hard all these while just for a safe job? We survived hard deadlines and meager graduate student salaries, not because we knew there is a job waiting, but because we enjoyed what we were doing. Few do research which changes the world or wins Nobel prize, but just being a small cog in a big wheel is no less motivating. And truth be told, the academic ambiance in a random American university is usually better than that in a random Indian university. Research is more streamlined, there is less political interference in everyday matters, and the professors are more respected in the society. Without exploring that option, and actually comparing if staying back can be better for a career in research, bolting for a safe job appears a bland cop out to me.<br /><br />Now of course there is the other stream of thought that, it is obligatory for homegrown Indians to go back. A foreign country can never feel like home, and one should not spend one's life abroad, uprooted from the familiar surroundings, and not getting fully integrated there. This may have some merit, but in that case, it would rule out most of India for me. I would feel more of a stranger in Chennai without knowing any Tamil rather than how much I feel alienated in US, where I even though I cant speak like them, I can understand what they speak. Another school of thought goes that since our education in India was essentially subsidized by tax payers money, we owe it to take our skills back. Without going into a long argument on whether higher education should be free, I would say that knowledge transfer in today's connected world does not necessarily require continuous physical presence.<br /><br />I do know if I will get an academic job here. I do not know if I would like one a few years down the line. I do not know if in that case I prefer going back and get an academic job there. What I do know is this, that whatever I do, it will be driven only by career aspirations at that point, making sure I enjoy doing that. That has always been the primary motivation, and abandoning that will make all these years meaningless.dipthoughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18235211045530849384noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14751463.post-60089190552718254732011-01-08T07:54:00.002-05:002011-01-08T07:59:09.038-05:00A trip back down the memory lane<span style="font-style:italic;">"As I passed through the gates, the blistered hands of nostalgia gave my heart a good squeeze and I realized you miss shit times as well as good times, because at the end of the day what you're really missing is just time itself." <br />— Steve Toltz (A Fraction of the Whole) </span><br /><br />About two years back, I left Gainesville after obtaining my Ph.D. That is how it was supposed to happen, and five and half years were indeed a long enough time spent in that little big college town. However, somewhere down the line, it just did not remain just another place where I spent a few years of my life, rather became my home, the place where I felt I belonged to. First time in my life, everything was mine. Not just that I started earning money for the first time (no matter how meager graduate student salary was), and spent as I wanted. I traveled all over the place, bought a car. All the successes were mine, and all the failures too. Then I moved to Germany. No matter how enriching a cultural experience this was, and how much work my career benefited, I could never bring myself to say I am from Dresden. I stuck with I work here. <br /><br />I craved for a chance to go back. Finally everything worked out for a quick trip down there. As I drove in the town late night, I almost ended up heading to my old apartment. Apart from a few new parking lots, everything looked the same, just like how I last saw them. The physics building still felt like the second home it was, only my office did not have my name any more. It was not just me, others also had trouble realizing that they last said "hi" to me in the corridor two years back, not yesterday. The guy who bought my car was kind enough to let me drive it again, and except for the fact that the interior looked much less messy now, I felt just as familiar sitting there. Many people left, but those I did meet, helped me to feel at home. I dined at Satchel's Pizza, the unique Gainesville landmark. I stepped inside the "Swamp", knowing little that the Urban Meyer era, which in a lot of ways defined the identity of "our" Gator nation, is about to end. I drove down to Cedar Key, the nearest seafront, which holds so many memories from those days gone by.<br /><br />And then I was gone again.dipthoughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18235211045530849384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14751463.post-42965942908441024032010-12-30T12:29:00.004-05:002010-12-30T19:26:38.910-05:00Making America's Roads BetterYears back, when I was buying my first car, someone warned me about all the additional expenses that I am going to incur. Among the other mundane items like insurance and repairs, he mentioned, traffic tickets. As a hesitant driver in a new country, I did not pay much attention to that then. Five years down the line, I definitely know what he was talking about.<br /><br />I am not talking about occasional red light jumpings or parking violations. Those are part of life too, but much rare, and immensely avoidable. It is actually quite incredible. that for a country known for its orderly and law abiding society, speeding is not looked down upon at all. The posted limits are taken as just suggestions by most, from celebrity <a href=" http://www.dlisted.com/node/14262">popstars</a> to <a href="http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,174832,00.html">Nobel winning physicists</a>. As for mere mortals like us, it may make otherwise boring drives thrilling, or make up for the lost time, but mostly we speed because we can. As my friend claimed after getting a $300 citation for going 22 miles over limit, the people speeding should be rewarded, not punished, since we know what we are doing. The real hazard on highways are slower vehicles, which block the flow of traffic and make things chaotic. No truer words were ever spoken.<br /><br />I was caught 22 miles over limit once too, but the fine was much less. It was a sleepy village among the cornfields in Illinois. and I was in a real hurry. So not being recreational speeding, that does not count. However, all the other times, I speed strategically, following the old adage, never go alone. The other speeding cars are your best friends, and friends never let friends go far away. <br /><br />Of course, nothing can be full proof. Driving down from Jacksonville airport to Gainesville, one passes through small towns of Waldo and Baldwin, and outsiders tend to speed by them, not caring about what seems artificially low speed limits. And mostly they get pulled over. The main source of revenue for those towns are traffic citations. <br /><br />But thankfully, that idea has not caught on. I was driving back from Grand Canyon on this one lane Arizona highway, and that was the craziest collective speeding frenzy I was part of. A bunch of cars were going probably over 90 mph on a 65 mph zone, crossing slower traffic going into the opposite lane, and then kind of camped on the other side, occasionally coming back to let poor incoming cars pass by. One of those crazy cars came almost face to face with a police car in the other lane, and in any other place, he would have been pulled over for speeding and aggressive driving. Here the cop blinked his red-blue light once, backed off a little to let that car (and the five others behind him!) to merge back in, and went by.<br /><br />This was also in Arizona, my highest speed ever, and dedicated to all the friends and strangers who speed, making the highways better places to drive. <br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_VvPf_vCg4js/TRzCS_BZU8I/AAAAAAAAJ3g/ja0h2ibzwfY/s1600/P1050900.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_VvPf_vCg4js/TRzCS_BZU8I/AAAAAAAAJ3g/ja0h2ibzwfY/s320/P1050900.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5556529671679071170" /></a><br /><br /><br />You cant fake this picture!dipthoughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18235211045530849384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14751463.post-3541295996543952962010-12-21T09:26:00.003-05:002010-12-21T09:41:06.214-05:00Gold does glitter!Life as a frequent flier is not always fun, contrary to what the movie "Up in the Air" showed. Waking up at odd hours, traversing timezones, forgotten cellphone charger or medicines, every little annoyance adding up. And when the unpredictable weather and random flight cancellations are factored in, it is almost a perfect recipe for disaster. I see all the people stranded on their way to or out of Europe in last few days, and I realize I could have been one of them. In fact, I was, briefly in Berlin, before I was accommodated in a nice hotel, provided with food and was put in a direct flight to US next morning.<br /><br />All because once my original flight to Cleveland via Zurich and Toronto was canceled, I could stand in the infinitely shorter rebooking queue for first and business class travelers, and get a seat in the direct flight to Newark next morning. If I were in the general queue, with a million people, I would have never made it. That's what happened n Paris last year, when I spent all my day standing in queues, and my night sleeping at the airport. I was a lowly "silver" then, in Delta frequent flier program.<br /><br />Now after flying over 50,000 miles (when all said and done, I will end up flying almost 75,000 miles this year), I am "gold" in United, and what a difference that made. Flying back to Dresden via Frankfurt last time from US, I was stuck in an utterly chaotic snow covered Frankfurt airport. But instead of standing in endless queues, I could queue up sitting inside the lounge, and spend the night at airport Sheraton, before getting a first class train ticket for next morning, all on Lufthansa. Yes, lounges are nice with free drinks, internet and relaxing ambiance, and domestic first class upgrades are fun, and it is cool to see my bags coming out first, but the real benefit of having "status" is how you get treated in case of these irregularities. To use a borrowed phrase, that is indeed priceless.dipthoughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18235211045530849384noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14751463.post-6962391961268093842010-11-16T04:55:00.004-05:002010-11-16T05:36:16.712-05:00A German Graduation<span style="font-style:italic;">Writing this post from a "world" I have never experienced before. Lufthansa lounge at the top floor of A concourse, Frankfurt airport, with abundant luxuries. Free food and drinks of all varieties, internet, a piece of paradise tucked away from the all the chaos.</span><br /><br />In a world which is trying to become more and more uniform every day, unique local traditions and customs feel like breath of fresh air. Yesterday I was fortunate to see one of our group members get her Ph.D, and while that it by itself is a fantastic occasion, what followed next caught me by complete surprise. After the presentation, the mandatory faux-suspense wait while the committee deliberated inside (an aside: turns out in Germany, there are also grades associated with a Ph.D degree, and that probably took most of the time)once she stepped out of the room, she was put in a dolly, designed as a funny take on her time here. Turns out on an April fool,s day years back, she jokingly asked her advisor for a cot in her office, and there it was, the dolly was designed as a bed, replete with a pillow! To reflect her incredible work ethic, a model computer screen was put on, along with a alarm clock showing 2 am. She was working on detection of this particle called the Higgs boson, decaying into some other particles called Tau leptons.<br />So, of course cutout of Greek tau and H was all over it, and her graduation hat was designed like a Mexican hat, which is a popular representation of how Higgs bosons interact, and there was little white ball depicting the Higgs inside her hat too. She sat in the dolly, a beer in her hand, and was pushed around the campus by enthusiastic members of the group, her advisor included. This was completely new for me, and so much fun! <br /><br />Here is a picture from the evening:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VvPf_vCg4js/TOJegLZ_ipI/AAAAAAAAJ1c/NKR6b_rmbdk/s1600/IMG_1203.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VvPf_vCg4js/TOJegLZ_ipI/AAAAAAAAJ1c/NKR6b_rmbdk/s320/IMG_1203.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5540094398529768082" /></a><br /><br />Anyone seen any other funny graduation customs?dipthoughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18235211045530849384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14751463.post-89677723774427275702010-11-12T04:46:00.007-05:002010-11-12T05:35:08.815-05:00Looking back at the choice I made<span style="font-style:italic;">Disclaimer: this was written as a response to a question from a very good friend, if this reads too trivial and personal. may be it is. Also, no disrespect meant to any one making any career choice, the opinions expressed reflect my personal bias.</span><br /><br />Why are you doing what are you doing? I guess this is one of the most frequently asked question to those of us who are considered not doing a "real job". While I discussed about why I love doing what I am doing years back <a href="http://dipthought.blogspot.com/2005/08/why-do-you-do-it.html">here</a>, the other question would be, how did I end up doing it. My usual answer is that I ended up doing physics because I was not good at anything else, which strangely does not satisfy people at all.<br /><br />One tends to think that career choice is a huge decision. May be it is, but as a teenager, it is hard to have that broad global perspective. Our decisions are mostly shaped by what we see happening all around us, in a very local scale. Although in high school essays one writes one wants to be a doctor when one grows up because they hate to see poor people suffering, I have a sneaky feeling that they want to be doctors either because the white coat looks cool in movies, or after reading Robin Cook novels.<br /><br />I grew up in a very liberal (my parents spent considerable time abroad) yet conservative (in the sense that choosing a non-traditional career was not an option) household in the outskirts of a small town. We were not strikingly affluent, but all the basic luxuries were all there, and fortunately money was never something which influenced my career path. Like all the nerdy kids, I liked mathematics and sciences, but I also found history entertaining and geography enchanting. It is remarkably satisfying when you actually get to set foot on the places you read years back in those books, but I digress. I have to admit that while I liked reading books, of all colors and flavors, I could never find much logic in studying literature, which essentially involved critically dissecting the nice pieces and taking the fun out of them, or memorizing rules of grammar, which is merely a human convention.<br /><br />My dad is a Ph.D physicist, and so were a few other uncles. My mom studied history. So that possibly helped to shape my initial interest. However, as I approached that inevitable point where I had to decide my "future", there were few other considerations too. Bright (and not so bright) kids left and right were desperately studying engineering in the hope of landing an "easy" software job, and at that impressionable age, that sounded tempting enough. In fact the accepted convention in those days was that the best minds study engineering and medicine, leaving the mediocre kids who could not get through to either study science and humanities subjects. I was fortunate to have been acquainted with computers from an early age, so with my limited (but certainly better than others who wanted to study computer engineering without having the faintest idea of what it is) exposure, I thought that may be a fun subject. But then I was told that you get to use computers in a lot of other disciplines too, and I was happy. Plus studying computers at a good place involved going through some pretty competitive, demanding but dull entrance examinations, and I was not sure if it was worth the hassle. (For the record, yes, I did take those exams, and yes did not get through to where I would have wanted, but at that point I already had my mind made up.)<br /><br />It is hard to pin down a moment when and how I made up my mind to study physics, but I will try. Many people think, somewhat mistakenly, that I ended up choosing physics because of my family influence. While it is certainly true that there are/were some highly talented and acclaimed physicists I got to talk to, and my dad is an amazing teacher, something so easily accessible and "everyday" does not influence you so much. May be it did subconsciously, I do not know. However, a couple of things happened the summer before I had to decide. I ended up in a summer camp kind of thing (organized by the excellent people at <a href=" http://jbnsts.org/">JBNSTS</a>), where toppers from different schools in North Bengal and North-East India gathered and we had short courses on advanced topics. The professor who taught physics, more specifically very beginning quantum mechanics to these bunch of starry-eyed kids was superbly motivational, and we were mesmerized. The class would start in the lecture hall in the afternoon, and at some point, when the lecture hall needed to be locked up, we would just shift to the adjacent cafeteria, and he would continue. Most of us fell in love with physics. Practical considerations meant not all of us taking up physics, but even now when I talk with someone from that group, they fondly talk reminiscence about those lectures. Around the same time, I happened to stumble on this <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Genius-Life-Science-Richard-Feynman/dp/0679747044)">book</a> by James Gleick based on life of Feynman and I just could not put it down. I read though it, all five hundred plus ages in one go, and that was it. As an adolescent you need someone to idolize (Bill Gates for my computer science friends perhaps?), and no matter how cliched it sounds, he was that man. Of course other mundane things helped, that I actually did not get through to those engineering colleges where a lot of people around me expected me to go, but I had good enough grades to get through to perhaps one of the best undergraduate program in physics at that time, and incidentally the aforementioned quantum mechanics<br />teacher was a faculty there.<br /><br />As a very young kid, I had a fascination for trains, like all kids do. Once a train driver waived back at me, and that made my day. I thought I wanted a to be train driver. Alas, that never worked out, but as a high energy physicist, I am going places afterall!dipthoughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18235211045530849384noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14751463.post-4514095460269366632010-11-06T08:34:00.001-04:002010-11-06T08:36:03.242-04:00The unknown perspectiveWe all read about that incident in our morning newspaper. Uttered a few sighs, commented about the what could have been. Then we moved on. I was haunted by the nightmare for a while, and I still vividly remember the scene.<br /><br />It was a lazy weekday afternoon in Kolkata. Mexico was playing US in a world cup soccer game. As a passionate sports lover, there was no way I could miss that game - but also needed to go my university which was at the opposite end of the town. Fortunately, Kolkata metro came to my rescue, as they were showing the games live at the stations. So I watched the first half in Belgachia, took a train to Rabindra Sadan just as the halftime ended, and stood there, watching the game. People walked by, sometimes asking the score, sometimes obliviously. Trains kept passing by. Nothing distracted me.<br /><br />Then it happened. I still do not know what made me turn around, and first time in my life, to witness death firsthand. The upper body of a man, stuck between the train and platform, was being dragged by the train screeching to a halt. For a moment the world stopped, the sounds seem to come from a parallel universe. I could not bear looking on. The story did come out the next day, and no, he was not attempting suicide at the metro tracks like countless other morons do, he just slipped and fell at the most inopportune moment. Sometimes there is no way to come back.<br /><br />But sometimes there is, and that is perhaps the most glorious thing about life. We all had our share of misfortunes, and mistakes. We love to say they altered our lives, but that is the probably one of the worst vague generalizations one can make. We never knew to begin with how life would be if certain things did or did not happen. I am sure that I would not be doing what I am doing sitting on a dull Saturday morning at Dresden, if I did not join Florida in fall 2003, that much is clear. What is completely unclear though what would have happened if I got a chance and joined another university in US, or a research institute in India. I would not have met the same people or traveled the same road, but would that have been more or less rewarding? We do not know the answer. We have no way to find out.<br /><br />We know we want to read this book, or watch that movie. Perhaps visit that place. I want Florida to win all football games every year. We probably also know how the results of our work would look like, although research by definition is probing the unknown. But beyond that, we do not know. And like the kid holding the raffle ticket in his hand, and imagining the endless possibilities, we prefer it that way. <br /><br />No adventurer knew what lay ahead. That would have defeated the purpose.dipthoughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18235211045530849384noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14751463.post-66096252075103115392010-10-30T09:15:00.003-04:002010-10-30T09:22:26.746-04:00Eastward HoThe ruins of Roman and Greek civilizations draw hoards of tourists to Europe, and quite understandably too. Seeing ancient history, which we read in high school textbooks, right in front of our eyes is fascinating. However, we often tend to overlook momentous events in recent past, mostly because it is hard to grasp the significance of them when we are not directly affected by it. Living in Dresden, and traveling through Eastern Europe, I came face to face with this "modern history", and it is no less fascinating than those majestic ruins.<br /><br />Growing up in the 80's, even in faraway India, we saw grainy images broadcast by the state-run TV channel. Nicolae Ceauşescu being overthrown in Buchares. Tanks on the streets of Moscow. Tearing down of the wall in Berlin. Apart from providing overtly-generalized coffee-table discussion on why communism is a failure (and also teaching me the word "coup d'état"), I dont think we gave them the due importance. The whole communist block crumbled down, ethnic conflicts ensued, resulting in formation of new independent countries. These were not merely geographical or political realignments, as I have been repeatedly realizing. In my recent travel to Budapest, it appeared that the most commonly used word together with "communism" was "terror". They upooted all the communist leader's statues from the city, and dumped them in the misleadingly named memento park A friend has experienced how in a German train, harmless looking Russian ladies were almost interrogated during a routine ID check. In a Czech shop, the salesman was horrified to learn that certain parts of India are still ruled by so-called communists. <br /><br />Life in communist era was bad for sure. Food was hard to come by, luxuries were rare except for the top party functionaries, and everyone lived in an environment of constant fear and suspicion. Telling anything against the party lead to unpleasant consequences. But also, everybody had work and a place to live. Should not that count for something? Asking my friends here who formerly belonged to the east, I got mixed responses. Unification was not all good, someone's parents lost their low skill jobs, and they had a hard time integrating with the more competitive westerners. The quality of life eventually got better, but may have also created a problem of identity for the older generation. World can rarely be painted with one color.<br /><br />Budapest was pretty, Bratislava was nice too. The charming old town architecture sits uneasily with modern glass-facade buildings and McDonalds. One of the attractions in Budapest was the underground labyrinth, decorated with faux-history artifacts and replica paintings. The most prominent feature in Bratislava skyline is the ugly UFO-like bridge, standing just across the medieval castle. You can use Euros in Slovakia, but you have to carry wads of local currency in adjoining Czech republic and Hungary. <br /><br />In some years, before they all look and feel the same, a visit to these places is as interesting a historical tour as any other.dipthoughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18235211045530849384noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14751463.post-44986432499662605992010-10-13T11:15:00.003-04:002010-10-13T12:21:31.061-04:00Why this means nothing to me!I am tired of this. Year after year, it is the same story, since I have moved away from Kolkata. <br />This time of the year, wherever you see a few Bengalis discussing something, it must be about the <span style="font-style:italic;">pujo</span>. You cant escape it offline. You cant escape it when talking to a friend.<br />You cant even escape it on social networking sites. I am getting sick of this. <br /><br />And before I appear as another suddenly-homesick Bengali, that is hardly the case. I can perfectly understand why people there will be excited about the biggest festival of the year. You must be excited when you are forced to make multiple forced voluntary donations, have to fight with millions of people to reach anywhere or enter a restaurant, and have the unenviable pleasure of listening to non-stop free music loud and clear from the adjoining <span style="font-style:italic;">pujo pandal</span>. <br /><br />However I see no reason why I would be excited. Or anyone living in any part of the world, where <span style="font-style:italic;">pujo</span> means nothing. And no, I do not count the social get-togethers organized in these parts. The whole point of a festival is the ambiance, the surrounding. Seeing everyone around you having fun. In spite of all the inconveniences, that is why we want to go back to Kolkata this time of the year, although whether we will be able to survive the crowd is an open question. But I digress. <br /><br />I am an atheist, so the religious part of it does not mean anything to me anyways. I suspect that is true for a lot of people, <span style="font-style:italic;">pujo</span> is a social occasion, not an overtly religious one, no matter what the name suggests. The social aspect is completely missing here - no matter how hard you try to recreate the environment here. It is either you meeting up with all your friends, which you do once in a while anyways, or worse, an awkward gathering of complete strangers. A festival can not happen in isolation, and more importantly, it cannot happen without a buildup. You cant getup one fine morning, see your scheduler, get dressed, and go to a <span style="font-style:italic;">pujo</span>. Even football games in Florida had more buildup, more expectations.<br /><br />All festivals are critical functions of the surroundings. That is why <span style="font-style:italic;">pujo</span> means nothing to me sitting here. Now, please stop asking me how I am spending my <span style="font-style:italic;">pujo</span>. And, no I am not interested in listening to how was yours, or hear <span style="font-style:italic;">dhak</span> on <span style="font-style:italic;">youtube</span>. I see everyone working around me.dipthoughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18235211045530849384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14751463.post-73644333080941522052010-09-28T13:18:00.003-04:002010-09-28T13:31:06.532-04:00First impression of Mexico CityLanding at the Mexico City airport past midnight, all I wanted to was reach my hotel and not get robbed or shot in the process. Not so fast, as the immigration guy kept staring at my passport for a while, flipped over the pages repeatedly, smelled it, made a little mark with his pen and wiped it off, and finally disappeared asking to "wait me". A more senior looking official emerged and and asked if I have another form of ID. I guess they were just confused why an Indian looking guy residing in Germany is holding an US passport. Strangely though, they never asked me why I am here.<br /><br />The city is huge, and remarkably like any big Indian city. It is not just the crowd, or the crazy traffic or the tasty streetfood, but the character and smell of the city, so to say. It took us over an hour to come to the university from the center of the city, a distance of barely 5 km. The university apparently has 300,000 students, which is about 6 times that of a large public university in US. Overwhelming, to say the least.<br /><br />Large crowds everywhere, be it at the metro or at tourist attractions. Everything from (cheap) spicy food to handicrafts being sold on the streets, or in the little carts. People singing or playing musical instruments and asking for money, or asking for money anyways. Mexico City is as lively and vibrant place as I have ever been to. The museum of Anthropology does a remarkable job of portraying the unique amalgamation of "Indian", Mayan, Aztec and Spanish culture that the present day Mexico is, apart from having an amazing collection of sculptures and relics recovered from the ruins.<br /><br />I read all these scary things about the country. May be that is true elsewhere, but here in the city, I never felt unsafe. You do see armed cops and blinking lights literally in every corner, but no hint of any danger lurking.dipthoughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18235211045530849384noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14751463.post-30370002537515110952010-09-24T08:56:00.004-04:002010-09-24T11:59:29.177-04:00Latest national park traveled: YellowstoneNational parks are quintessentially American. Ever since landing up in US in 2003, I have been to a small fraction of them:<br /><br />Cuyahoga Valley (spring break, 2005)<br />Smoky Mountain (summer, 2005; fall, 2007)<br />Grand Canyon (Winter, 2005)<br />Shenandoah (fall, 2007)<br />Everglades (winter, 2007)<br />Yosemite(winter, 2007)<br />Petrified Forest (summer, 2008)<br />Acadia (summer, 2010)<br />Yellowstone and Grand Teton (fall, 2010)<br /><br />When we think of natural attractions, mountains and seas are usual suspects. However, these national parks are unique in the sense that many of them present totally unusual vistas. Everglades certainly comes to mind - it encompasses the huge swampland of south Florida, an unique but fragile ecosystem. It is not terribly attractive if you want to travel marking the attractions on a map and then connecting the dots, but if for a few hours or days, you want to escape the "civilization", and just enjoy the vast wilderness and nothingness, that should be your next destination.<br /><br />Yellowstone happens to be the first national park, where it all began, and no less unique. I have been up, close personal to a live volcano before (Mt.Etna, Sicily), but the sheer natural activity in Yellowstone is unlike anything I have ever seen. Spotting animals, (we did have some luck with seeing a bear and wolf/fox) hiding in the vast meadows or wilderness, is a favorite pastime, and whenever we would see a bunch of cars pulled over to the side of the road, we would slow down and ask, what do we see here? Easier to find are the Elks, we saw a herd of those relaxing in someone's front-yard. Bisons are omnipresent, often lazily crossing the roads holding up traffic. <br /><br />However, you need no such luck or persevere to enjoy spectacle nature has laid out. Not only you have the geysers of all sizes sprouting hot water skyward in regular intervals, but also you have the strikingly colorful pools dotting the landscape. The old faithful is perhaps the most known, "faithfully" erupting at predicted intervals, but we were told that it used to go up higher in older days. Was not everything better back in the days when gas was 10 cents a gallon, airlines served food and immigrants did not flood the country?<br /><br />That is just one of the countless geysers though.They seemed to pop out from everywhere, even from under a river or lake, a clear manifestation of the unseen activity underground. And when they subside, they form those pools. Combined with the metal particles, teeming microbe life renders surreal colors to those. At dusk, in the fading sunlight, the whole landscape transforms into something magical, the veil of smoke magnifying the colors. There are also some stinking muddy pools full of sulphur, bringing back memories of chemistry labs. <br /><br />The pictures are in my <a href="http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=3140910&id=2010577&l=22576b3c63">facebook profile</a> (apologies for not cross-posting them into picasa, but I am running out of virtual estate there).dipthoughthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18235211045530849384noreply@blogger.com0